Chuck vs Five Men, One with a Knife
by sharpasamarble
Summary: 1x11b: On New Year's Day, Chuck contemplates his resolutions. But a group blunder on a simple mission has complex consequences for Team Chuck, leading each member down a road he didn't expect to travel. Sequel to "Chuck vs Auld Lang Syne".
1. All is Quiet on New Year's Day

_Editor's Note: Standard disclaimers about 'Chuck' not belonging to me in any way, shape, or form apply._

_This story is a sequel to my fanfic "Chuck vs Auld Lang Syne"._

**Scene I – Dark Room**

A young man hunched over a computer screen, typing at a good pace. The clickety-clack of his fingers on the keyboard and the whine of the computer fan were the only sounds in the room. He paused for a moment, a pondering frown on his face as he wrestled some dilemma in his head. His face lit up as the solution came to him, and his typing quickly regained its former cadence.

Another young man, this one with curly hair and a worried expression, entered the room almost stealthily. He stood behind the chair, his forearm resting on the back, peering over the typist's shoulder. A luminescent, almost cartoonish green glow lit both their faces and not much else as daylight mostly failed to penetrate the slits in the blinds over the window.

The standing figure risked breaking the other's concentration. "Are we there?"

The tempo of the typing never wavered. "Almost. Just need another few hours or so. What's the rush?"

"Our client will be here in two hours."

Fingers hovered motionless above the keyboard. "What?! It's New Year's Day!"

"Yep. He wants the breach accomplished tonight."

The seated developer leaned back in the chair, trying to coax a stubborn kink from his lower back. Resetting, he took a swig from a can on the desk, emptying it. He tossed the can into a large box in the corner, a loud clanging filling the room as the can ricocheted between dozens more like it. "I'm on it," he declared, his face intense. Fingers danced over the keyboard at a frenzied pace.

**Scene II – Dark Room**

A young man hunched over a computer screen, typing at a good pace. The clickety-clack of his fingers on the keyboard and the whine of the computer fan were the only sounds in the room. He paused for a moment, a pondering frown on his face as he wrestled some dilemma in his head. His face lit up as the solution came to him, and his typing quickly regained its former cadence.

Chuck's fingers froze again. Cursing, he used a command keystroke to highlight all the text on the screen, and pressed delete. He stared up at the TRON poster on the wall in frustration.

In years past, New Year's resolutions had been simple. Try new things. Get some exercise. Get a date. Chuck gave an ironic smile: watch out what you ask for.

Even his old stand-by, knocking out his five-year plan, had pretty much been done for him. After all, he didn't have much say about his job any more. Jobs, he corrected himself. Chuck sighed.

He immediately started a new list of resolutions with, "Sigh less". He was mostly serious about that one.

The real trick with the resolutions was that this year he couldn't post the list in his room as he usually did. He didn't really want Sarah, let alone Ellie, knowing that he wanted to become better at self-defense. And he couldn't very well have Ellie, let alone Sarah, knowing that he wanted to get over Sarah in the worst way.

Catching himself at the last second, he managed not to sigh at the last thought.

Chuck had spent the better part of the morning lying in bed, reliving the New Year's countdown at the apartment. He could almost feel exactly how his heart had beat and how his breath had caught in his throat. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture Sarah's eyes staring into his with what seemed like nervous anticipation. He could almost feel her body pressed against his. He could almost taste her, almost smell her, and almost feel his lips against hers.

He could almost believe that it was all real.

One problem with perfect moments is that they inevitably move to not-so-perfect moments, and then reality sets back in. The reality was, maybe as it always had been, that nothing was going to happen between the two of them. Sarah had made that clear in the aftermath: she could barely look him in the eye, and her tense body language spoke louder than any words.

All the seeming flirting over the holidays was just for the cover, but he had fallen for it all once again. _Fool me once: shame on you. Fool me twice: shame on me._

His only consolation was that all the almost's would fade away over time. At least, he hoped they would.

Again fighting off the urge to sigh, Chuck went back to crafting his resolutions. He decided to keep his list relatively simple.

_Resolution 1: Sigh less._

_Resolution 2: Get better at job – Buy More_

_Resolution 3: Get better at job – Agent_

_Resolution 4: Get over Sarah._

_Resolution 5: Lie to Ellie and Morgan less._

Chuck contemplated his list for a moment. It felt like a good list: it was ambitious but achievable, and if he could accomplish those five, it would feel like a major success.

His iPhone rang; a glance at the display told him it was Casey calling.

"Bartowski, we've got an assignment. Come over for a briefing." Click.

Chuck cursed, turning back to his list. He was supposed to have dinner with Ellie that night, but he would likely need to cancel yet again. With a resigned expression, he deleted resolution #5. Resolutions were supposed to be realistic, he thought glumly.

Chuck sighed, and then immediately let out another curse.

**Scene III – Street scene**

Chuck, Sarah and Casey sat along a dark avenue in the black Suburban, eyeing a five-story building across the street on the next block. From Chuck's vantage point in the back seat, the building looked no different than the other buildings lining the road: store fronts and offices on the ground level, with apartments above.

Their target was a two-person firm called BD Security Consulting. Director Graham's briefing had discussed an attempt to breach one of the CIA's servers earlier today; CIA intelligence traced the attempt to this location. The team's mission was straightforward: storm the offices, capture anybody they found inside, and find out what they were up to.

For Chuck, the mission was even more straight-forward: stay in the car and out of the way.

Ostensibly, Chuck was there to help dig through whatever they found in the office, but Chuck knew by now when Sarah and Casey were just baby-sitting him. The odds of flashing on anything on this mission were virtually zero. It looked as though Chuck wouldn't be able to start working on his resolution to get better at his agent job until another day.

Chuck idly wondered about the particulars of the mission. BD Security Consulting ran a variety of security exercises for a variety of clients. So what were they doing messing around with a CIA server? Was one of them just going up against an unknown server to hone his skills? Or did they know what they were trying to crack?

Paging through the file folder of intelligence that they had printed out, he came to pictures of the two suspects. The way that they looked, either one could have been a buddy of his from Stanford. He closed the folder and looked at the other members of his team.

Sarah was dressed in form-fitting black, her hair in a tight pony tail bound by several bands. As usual, Chuck found her devastatingly beautiful. Finishing her surveillance of the building, she looked across to Casey. "Ready?" she asked.

Casey, also decked out in black action clothes, sneered disdainfully while loading his gun. "Computer programmers. This should be a real challenge." He holstered his gun inside his jacket.

As was normal on a mission, Sarah was all business. "Well, then it shouldn't be any problem to knock this out quickly. Let's go."

The two exited, quickly sliding across the street and making their way along the opposite sidewalk. Chuck glanced in both directions, leaning forward to use the driver's mirrors to help scan the area. There were headlights off in the distance, but other than that, the street seemed deserted.

Chuck slid in his ear wick; at least he'd get to hear what happened. He watched Sarah and Casey cross a side street and proceeding to the designated front door. Quickly dropping to a crouch, Sarah picked the lock while Casey kept watch. Inside of ten seconds, the pair disappeared through the door.

No sounds came through over the radio for a long moment. The team didn't have time to gather any intel on the office layout, so Chuck figured they were carefully feeling their way through the unfamiliar space.

Suddenly, the radio burst to life. Sarah yelled, "Freeze!" and there was a series of crashing and scuffling noises. Casey's voice bellowed, "Don't move!" In the background, an unknown male voice said, "All right! All right!"

Crashing noises came across the radio; the noises seemed somehow distant. Pushing the ear wick deeper into his ear, Chuck puzzled over what he heard, trying to envision the scene. Sarah's voice came through again. "Casey, get him! I've got these guys!"

Suddenly, a door down the side street burst open. A figure raced down the middle of the road, looking back over his shoulder to see if he expected pursuit. He sprinted across the main street, running for the sidewalk.

Chuck's expression became conflicted – what to do? The figure had reached the sidewalk, and his path would take him right next to the Suburban. Remembering his resolution, Chuck set his jaw. _All right, Bartowski: you can do this._ Even in his own mind, he hardly sounded convincing.

Slipping out of the truck on the street side, Chuck quickly slid around to the rear of the vehicle, using the Suburban's size to his benefit. The fleeing figure was too concerned with checking for pursuit to notice.

Chuck only had a moment; he quickly developed a plan. He would leap out at the last second and clothes line the suspect. He was completely unaware of Chuck, and his momentum would take himself down against Chuck's arm. It was simple enough that Chuck should be able to pull it off.

The figure came closer; Chuck risked a peek out from behind the Suburban. Thirty feet away and closing fast, the fugitive's head was again turned to look back for pursuit. Chuck ducked back behind the car, taking a deep breath and steeling himself as he gathered into a crouch. As the footsteps grew close, Chuck leapt out from behind the Suburban and stuck his arm out.

Unfortunately, his timing was off by about five feet.

Hearing Chuck land on the sidewalk, the figure turned in time to see the ambush. The man dropped under Chuck's arm, landing quick, powerful punches to the kidney and the crotch, causing Chuck to double over in pain and fall to the ground. He felt blood rush to his face.

The fugitive ran past, hardly breaking stride, making a hard left at the next corner and disappearing from sight.

Chuck writhed on the ground for what seemed a long moment before he heard Casey's voice in his earpiece. "Chuck! Chuck! One of them slipped out the back! He's unarmed! Get him!"

Chuck's attempt to answer came out as a squeak. He coughed to clear his throat, and said, "Sorry, Casey, he ducked around me. Bad luck."

Casey's voice found Chuck not through his ear piece, but from directly above, "Sure about that, Bartowski?" Chuck rolled over onto his back to find Casey standing right above him with an evil grin on his face. "Gotta watch those programmer types … they're born killers."

Chuck turned even redder and curled up in a fetal position. Under his breath, he muttered, "Why don't I just stay in the car?"


	2. Consequences, Consequences

**Scene IV – Buy More Home Theater Room**

The trio of Sarah, Casey and Chuck stood in a line in the darkened Buy More media room giving their report to General Beckman. All three still wore their outfits from the mission, with Chuck's a little worse for his tumble onto the sidewalk.

Chuck stood slightly hunched over from the pain in his side. The shot to the crotch had thankfully been a glancing blow, but the kidney punch was a solid hit that would likely cause Chuck to carry a bruise for a couple of days. He made little eye contact with anyone, risking only the occasional peek at Casey and Sarah. Sarah was unreadable, but Casey couldn't hide his smile.

General Beckman apparently didn't find things quite as amusing; the plasma screen highlighted every detail of her disappointment. "Really? You let a programmer escape?"

At the general's words, Casey's grin faded for the first time in hours. "Yes, sir. The suspect had black hair, slicked back, and was wearing a black jacket and blue jeans. He was about 5'4", and weighed, what, a-buck-40, Chuck?" Casey turned to look at Chuck, a smirk on the side of his mouth facing away from the general. Sarah looked down, fighting successfully to control her expression before lifting her eyes back to the general.

Chuck's face flushed and he jerked his eyes back to the wall beyond the television. Even though Sarah didn't telegraph what expression she was hiding, there was only one thing it could be.

General Beckman looked up from where she was taking down notes. "And remind me, Agent Casey, why you didn't catch him?"

At the implied reprimand, Casey lost the rest of his smirk. "Sorry, general. We thought it was just the two men; the third was in another part of the office and managed to slip out the back door. By the time I got outside, all I saw was Chuck's attempt to detain the suspect. I had to check on the Intersect's status, and pursuit was not possible."

The general frowned more than usual. "So, if I understand correctly, we truly have no idea who this other person is, or what his involvement was … which makes it a little tough to track him down. And to top it off, you two left the Intersect vulnerable, and he was attacked."

Sarah interjected, "Chuck would have been perfectly safe had he stayed in the car." Chuck hoped his expression looked more neutral than it felt; he was about done with being mocked and reprimanded for the day.

Sarah continued, "As for the other man, we can interrogate the two captured suspects to find out about the third."

"Maybe, but we should have had this wrapped up tonight. Very sloppy work, people." She shook her head critically to emphasize her point.

Casey, chastened, stood at attention as he said, "Yes, General."

"Did you find anything interesting at the scene?"

Sarah said, "We confiscated a few computers, their business files, and all the notes we could find. Chuck didn't flash on anything, but there were a lot of documents to go through. We'll continue to sort through it all."

"OK. Interrogate the suspects. Find out what you can about the mystery third man. Have our experts start going through the computers to see what they can figure out." With a final reproachful look, the general signed off.

With only the quickest of glances at the other two, Chuck immediately headed through the media room door. Sarah shot Casey a dirty look as she started to go after Chuck.

Casey's grin returned in spades. Despite the general's reprimand, he seemed pleased. He cleaned up the mission briefing materials from the table. "Good day," he said to himself.

Out in the store, Sarah called out, "Hey, Chuck, wait up!" Chuck had been hoping to escape the store without further conversation. His head slightly down, his pace towards the door didn't falter. At the moment, all he wanted was to lock himself in his room and hide from both his worlds for a while.

Sarah wasn't so easily dissuaded; she broke into a jog so she could catch up with him. She slowed to walk alongside him, saying, "Chuck, don't take it too hard. We all have days like this."

Chuck clearly didn't buy it. He stopped so he could turn to look directly at her. "Really? You have days when an unsuspecting, unarmed suspect half your size barely broke stride as he disabled you, proceeding to escape?"

Sarah's face became sympathetic; she almost winced as she gave the only answer she had. "Well, no, not quite like that."

"Well, like what then." Sarah's face twisted as she tried to come up with an answer. When it became clear no response was forthcoming, Chuck resumed walking towards the front of the store. Sarah took a couple of quick steps to reposition herself alongside him.

Sarah's tone was a little patronizing as she said, "Look, your role isn't to…"

Chuck stopped again, interrupting her sharply, "It doesn't matter what my role is. We all have to be able to step up and contribute when needed. And I can't take out any suspect more dangerous than a girl scout."

Casey walked past the pair, case files under his arm. "I'd take even money on the girl scout."

Sarah let out an exasperated, "Casey!"

Casey continued towards the exit, shaking his head subtly and chuckling, "Such a good day."

Chuck stared after Casey for a brief moment. When he looked back at Sarah, his expression was a little desperate. "Isn't there some type of self-defense training you guys can put me through? You know, a karate class, a judo tutorial … an Internet course on Indian burns? Anything?"

"I just don't think that's a good idea, Chuck. It takes years of training to get good at fighting, and frankly we want you to stay…"

"'Stay in the car'?"

"I was going to say stay out of the fighting."

Chuck still looked defeated. "I'm going home."

He started to turn for the door, but Sarah stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. With a softer voice, she asked, "Weren't we supposed to be out on a late date tonight?"

Given the last couple of hours, the 'date' had completely slipped his mind. In case the mission ran late into the night, it gave Chuck a plausible explanation about where he would be. "Sorry, I forgot about that. But I think we've been 'dating' long enough that people will buy that I just wasn't feeling well and wanted an early night."

"Come on, grab a bite with me. It'll help to talk things out." Her tone was insistent, but her face was strangely hopeful.

Chuck liked the idea of spending time with Sarah a little too much right then, especially the way she was smiling at him. But if he went with her, inevitably she would talk about their cover and the kiss on New Year's Eve, and he would just be reminded all over again that nothing was going to happen. That would be the capper on a very bad day.

As much as Chuck didn't want Sarah to worry about him, he just didn't have it in him. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company tonight. Rain check?"

Sarah's response of "Sure," lacked much force or conviction. "Look, don't worry too much about today. None of us did particularly well on this mission; it happens. Nothing's changed; you're still really good at your job."

"If you say so."

Sarah, forcing Chuck to look at her, said, "You are." Chuck managed a bit of a smile at that.

Chuck thought Sarah was going to say something else, but instead she simply said, "Good night, Chuck." With a slightly hesitant turn, Sarah walked to the exit, giving a look back and a small smile as she pushed open the door.

His smile disappeared as soon as the door shut behind her. His side throbbed, a reminder of his earlier ineptitude. Would he be any good at his job without the database of government secrets in his head? The rational side of him started pointing to various examples, from capturing Minh to re-directing a missile to disarming two different bombs. But Chuck really didn't want to listen to his rational side; he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

Waves of self-pity washed over Chuck. He knew he was acting badly, but he couldn't help it. All the more reason to go home and shut out the world for a while.

He sighed, cursing again under his breath. Day one of the New Year wasn't turning out to be such a great day for his resolutions: he had broken every last one of them.

He shut off the lights.

**Scene V – Sarah's Hotel Room**

Sarah entered her overly formal hotel room, aggressively tossing her keys onto the table next to the alarm clock. Today hadn't gone as planned. At all.

She speed-dialed Casey.

"Casey here."

"Walker here. What the hell was with you tonight?"

Casey's tone began as sarcastically genteel, and gradually shifted into just plain sarcastic. "Nice to speak with you, Agent Walker. Mind telling me what the hell you mean?"

"Why were you goading Chuck tonight?"

"You mean the Intersect?"

"What, you want to be semantical? Fine. You were goading Chuck, which endangers the Intersect."

"'Endangers'? Please, these were just computer programmers. He was never in any danger."

"This isn't just about tonight; it's about future missions, too. Besides, it's not like you to underestimate a mission."

"And it's not like you to get so emotional about a subject."

"What do you mean?" she asked defensively.

"What, you want to be semantical? Fine. You told me you were going to fix things with Chuckles."

"And I did."

"So what was going on at midnight on New Year's Eve? Things didn't exactly seem 'fixed'."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat: she still didn't know how much Casey had seen. However, the way Casey worded the question was more probing than accusatory. She thought quickly before responding, "Midnight was a tough moment. Our cover wouldn't allow us to get around a kiss, and neither one of us was entirely comfortable about it."

"Really? You seemed pretty 'comfortable' with the kiss."

Casey was bluffing. She knew him well enough by now to know that he would come at her with both barrels if he actually had anything. He was laying a trap, and Sarah refused to step into it.

"Please. If I did seem comfortable, it's because it's my job, just like it's your job to make Chuck comfortable with his role on the team."

"What, so now I'm supposed to play cheerleader when he gets beat up? 'Way to take a punch, Bartowski'?"

"No, you're supposed to forget about the fight and help remind him that it was stupid for him to get out of the Suburban in the first place. Instead, you decided to make fun of him. Even a guy like Chuck will take that personally, and the next time he has a choice between putting himself in harm's way and doing what's right, he'll wonder about what choice to make. Tonight, he asked about taking a self-defense class, for crying out loud."

"Good. We can't be around to protect Bartowski every moment. He needs to learn how to deal with those situations, just in case. This was a low-risk situation; now he knows what he is – and is not – capable of in a one-on-one fight. That's a start."

Sarah was getting nowhere fast, and she knew it. Her frustration started getting the better of her, and she found herself attacking Casey.

"It was a stupid risk. We have no idea who that guy was. Your report made it sound like the guy knew more than a little about fighting."

"From what I saw of Bartowski tonight, he could make Gandhi look like a martial arts expert. My report was generous."

"So what do you suggest? Encourage Chuck to take an active role in the fighting?"

"After what I saw? Uh-uh. But it certainly makes sense to get him some training, don't you think?"

Sarah didn't like where this was headed; not at all. If Chuck wanted to train and Casey agreed, she was going to be outvoted. But like a deer caught in headlights, she didn't know how to escape the oncoming car. Still, she had to try.

Rather lamely, she started up again, "You don't protect an asset by teaching him how to fight."

"Oh, please let me be there when you tell Bartowski that he's an asset and not an agent. That would seem to go against what you keep telling him, and I'm a little curious how he will take that."

Sarah's face clenched; she had neatly painted herself into a corner. Still, she refused to admit defeat. "We'll talk about this again later." She hung up, letting out a cry of frustration and throwing the phone onto the bed. She stood there for a moment, hands on hips, staring off into space.

She suddenly felt very tired and very dirty. She wandered into the bathroom so she could use the mirror as she undid the bands from her pony tail.

There were a host of reasons why the idea of Chuck learning how to fight was a bad idea, but try as she might, she could not come up with a good counterargument for Casey. She replayed their argument several times, and each time she ended up in an uncomfortable corner.

The last band removed, she shook out her hair. Sarah knew she should comb it out, but she felt an intense need to get out of her vest. She slid her black turtleneck over her head and undid the straps pinning the vest to her frame. Sliding the tight garment over her head revealed a black sports bra and Chuck's necklace.

Well, the necklace that she had bought for their cover; Chuck had made it his with the note inside.

Rotating the heart pendant between her thumb and forefinger, she slowly forced the curves to reflect each of the globe lights above the mirror in sequence. Today was supposed to be an easy mission, followed by a not-so-easy conversation with Chuck. After all, she was much more comfortable with actions than with words, but there was so much to talk about.

Sarah had failed miserably in her efforts to find an easy way to show Chuck how she felt, so she had resolved to be much more direct about it and tell Chuck how she felt. Even just thinking about it, she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. She picked up a brush and started working on her hair.

She knew he trusted her; his note had told her that. She knew he still had feelings for her; his kiss had told her that just as clearly. But, like always, she knew everything about him, and he knew nothing about her. It always seemed to work that way. After all, that's just what good agents did, and she was among the best. Eventually, it just became habit.

Sarah wasn't even sure exactly what she would say if she had the chance, but Chuck had a way of stripping away the things that didn't really matter, allowing her to clearly see what did. She was hoping it would be the same, and that this time, she would have the courage to actually say what mattered. But first, she needed to get Chuck alone somewhere. Somewhere without bugs. Somewhere without Casey.

Reluctantly letting the pendant drop to the hollow at the base of her neck, she picked up her comb and started working through her hair. This wasn't how the day was supposed to go.

**Scene VI – Casey's Apartment**

Across town, Casey shed his own set of action gear, replaying the conversation with Sarah in his head. He smirked; pushing her buttons was so easy lately.

The Art of War said to "stir up the waters to catch fish". The idea was to use confusion to your advantage to take what you want.

Given the looks Bartowski and Walker were exchanging when he arrived at the New Year's party, there was already confusion. So Casey stirred the waters a little more, both to try to gather a little more information and create more confusion. Walker was crafty enough not to give away any information. However, pushing for the self-defense training for Bartowski would keep Walker off-balance for a bit. And he needed her off-balance with regards to the Intersect as much as possible.

Casey ultimately didn't care whether Bartowski learned how to defend himself. Were he in this for the long-haul, Casey would stand by his arguments: they couldn't be around to protect the Intersect all the time, and Bartowski should learn how to protect himself for the times they couldn't be there. However, Casey would receive his orders long before self-defense classes would have a chance to do Bartowski any real good. And orders were orders.

Having shifted into his pajama bottoms and a plain white T-shirt, Casey headed into the living room. He wasn't happy with how the mission had gone, but it had turned into a blessing in disguise. He would have to get his head back in the game, though. Despite the minimal risk to Bartowski, there was no excuse for that kind of sloppy work. Next time, it might not be a third programmer in the back of the office.

Collapsing into his chair, he put on his headphones and flipped a switch. It was time to check in on his subject.

**Scene VII – Casa Bartowski**

Chuck slouched on the couch, watching an old episode from the Monty Python series. John Cleese was on-screen, teaching students of a self-defense class how to defend themselves from an assailant wielding a banana.

Cleese screeched, "First of all, you force him to drop the banana! Then, you EAT the banana, thus disarming him! You have now rendered him helpless!"

Yeah, that advice probably wasn't going to help Chuck any. He stretched; the Advil was finally kicking in. It felt good to be able to stretch without pain. Or, he corrected himself, without much pain.

Captain Awesome entered through the front door, wearing a UCLA sweat shirt and a pair of black warm-up pants. He obviously had just finished some kind of work-out, probably at his gym. "C-man. What's shaking?" he boomed.

"My ear-drums," Chuck muttered, not looking away from the TV. His mood obviously hadn't improved in the last hour. About the only thing that had gone right that day was coming home to the empty apartment; that kept him from having to explain the smudges on his clothes. He had changed into his Christmas pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt that read, "L1VE 1N Y0UR W0RLD. G3T PWNED 1N M!NE."

"What's that?" Devon asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a swig.

Chuck recognized how unpleasant he was being; he forced himself to sit up. "Sorry, Devon, rough day."

"Sorry to hear it. Everything all right?"

"Yep. But thanks." For some reason, Chuck found himself wanting to talk to Awesome about what happened; obviously, he couldn't. Without really thinking about it, he surprised himself by asking, "Hey, did you ever take any martial arts classes?"

"You bet." Of course he did. Knowing Devon, he probably spent a summer defending a remote Asian village against the thugs of a feudal warlord. The image made Chuck smile. "You're looking at a purple belt in aikido. I was bulking up a little too much at the gym, and wanted to develop a little more flexibility."

"Yeah, I have that same problem."

"Funny, Chuck. Hey, I hear there's a great dojo over by the Large Mart." Devon tilted his bottle towards Chuck. "You should check it out."

Despite himself, Chuck started to get a little excited. The dojo was close enough to work that he might be able to slip out for a few classes without his handlers finding out. "Maybe I'll look it up," he said, trying to keep a noncommittal tone.


	3. Easier Said Than Done

**Scene VIII – Buy More**

January 2nd was a slow day at the Buy More. With most people heading back to work, only the occasional corporate IT guy wandered into the store, usually just to pick up some miscellaneous parts. Because of this, the store was staffed down, with only a pair of green shirts and the Nerd Herd on staff. Even Big Mike didn't bother to show up.

Chuck decided to hit the ground running on his resolution to get better at his Buy More job. Taking advantage of the quiet store, he gathered the Herders for a morning meeting at the central desk. There were a couple of standard briefing items, and then he planned on giving a pep talk to the troops.

Jeff lounged in one of the office chairs, feet up on the desk. Anna sat on the counter, filing her nails. Lester finally wandered up and leaned against the Buy More desk, completing the crew.

"OK, guys – and Anna." Not looking up from her nails, Anna gave a sardonic smile in acknowledgment. "Today should be reasonably calm. We'll probably have some basic IT calls from small businesses during the day, and that's about it. Things should be pretty dead."

Lester's face lit up. "All right!" He looked around at the others. "I'm thinking Unreal Tournament 3, Capture-the-Flag style, Buy More #73 versus the world. Who's with me?"

The others chimed in excitedly; Chuck tried to head off the ensuing chaos. "Well, actually I was hoping we can use today to make up some ground on the repair jobs in the queue. We're pretty behind." He held up the clipboard of jobs to emphasize his point.

Jeff just laughed. "Yeah, that might happen." Anna grinned in agreement, focused on filing her nails. Lester simply shook his head at Chuck's naiveté.

Chuck was about to call Jeff on his comment when he noticed Morgan walking up, looking haggard and pale. Morgan stumbled slowly to the desk, his face highlighted by a flat expression and tired eyes. "Morgan, buddy, you feeling OK?"

Morgan shook himself, gamely trying to wave it off. "Yeah, I'm fine. You know, the first couple days of a new resolution are always toughest, right?"

Chuck had no idea what Morgan was talking about. Hugging his clipboard, he asked, "What, are you finally giving up energy drinks?"

"Nope; cigarettes."

Chuck's eyes narrowed with disbelief. "Morgan, you don't smoke."

Morgan shrugged as if his smoking habit was common knowledge. "Sure I do."

"Since when?"

"I had a few at the New Year's Eve party."

Lester rolled his eyes. "Please. You bummed one drag off of one of Jeff's, and you immediately had a five-minute coughing fit." Turning to Chuck, he said with a malicious grin, "We thought he was going to cough up a lung."

Morgan wasn't fazed. "Yeah, but there was something about that one. Now they haunt my dreams, Chuck. They call my name." His energy level seemed to have miraculously returned to normal in the previous few moments.

Chuck really didn't know what to say, other then, "Well, good luck with that."

Jeff, in one of his rare moments of wanting to be included, offered, "I made a resolution, too. Bet you can't guess what it is."

Everyone started speaking at once.

Chuck: "Giving up drinking?"

Morgan: "I'll go with 'no more porn in the break room'?"

Lester: "Cut back on the prostitutes?"

Anna: "Stop picking your nose in front of customers?"

The suggestions kept coming fast and furious from all sides, with only Chuck refusing to offer any more.

"Get a date?"

"Quit smoking?"

"Oh, stop selling pirated video games on eBay?"

"Actually do some work?"

"Is it 'Get a new hairstyle'?"

"Nah, I like his hair the way it is."

"Lose some weight?"

Jeff was a little shell-shocked. In a timid voice, he said, "No, I was going to pay off my student loans." He stared at each of them in turn, a hurt expression on his face, before spinning around in his chair and slinking away.

Morgan and the remaining Herders just stared after him for a moment. Finally, Morgan broke the silence. "I still would have gone with 'no more porn'." The Herders' debate started up again.

Chuck set his clipboard down with a frustrated expression on his face; it looked like his pep talk would have to wait.

**Scene IX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah peered through the one-way mirror at the first suspect. His brown curly hair and faint skin tone added the only color to the small white room, aside from the three simple aluminum chairs and the matching table he sat behind. More than anything, he looked bored, which was a bit surprising for a programmer who had been swept from his office and spent the night in a spartan CIA holding cell.

She had not been back to the facility since the day they tried to interview Bryce Larkin. The memory tugged at her more than she thought it would; even the white linen suits that the detainees wore reminded her of Bryce. Heck, in a different time it would be Bryce helping her interrogate the suspects; she still found herself missing how well the pair meshed on assignments from time to time. Still, she was relieved that his pull on her seemed to be fading.

Glancing down at one of the file folders, she continued to try to familiarize herself with the suspects. She was currently observing Brent Davis, owner and namesake of BD Security Consulting.

There wasn't much of file on Brent: he had both undergraduate and graduate degrees from USC, spending some time working for a local technology company in between stints at the university. After getting his MBA, he joined up with a couple of classmates to form a consulting company, but the trio had an acrimonious split which included an out-of-court settlement to a lawsuit brought by Davis. His next step was to start BD Security Consulting.

The company had been founded a little over a year ago, registered in Delaware like many businesses did to take advantage of the lenient tax laws. The agents had little information on the company other than what anyone could have gathered from their web site: a list of a few client companies, some testimonials, and a list of services they provided.

BD Security Consulting specialized in hacking into corporate computer networks to expose security flaws. Depending on the client need, they provided everything from security assessments to vulnerability testing to responses to specific incidents. In other words, they broke into systems for a living. The question became: why would the company go after a CIA server?

Sarah closed the folder and walked across the long side of the whitewashed room. There were three interrogation rooms accessed from the main room, each with its own one-way mirror and door. Brent Davis was in the first room, while the other suspect sat in the third. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate.

Jeremy Cushman lay prone on top of the table, one arm shielding his head from the cold, hard metal. Dressed in another white linen suit, all that was really visible of Jeremy were his arms and his matted, slightly oily brown hair. Every so often, Cushman started shaking, the only obvious indication that he was even breathing.

Cushman had started out a lot more nervous about the incarceration than his boss, but the nervousness had faded fast in favor of headaches, low energy and occasional bouts of shaking. The symptoms suggested Cushman was suffering severe withdrawal to something. Sarah neither knew nor cared what drug he craved; she just hoped the withdrawal made him more willing to talk.

Many of the classic interrogation techniques that they would normally use were out of bounds on this case. There was a decent chance they would be turning both of the suspects over to the police at some point, and while breaking into a CIA server gave her team a little bit of leeway in how they could handle the two men, right now there was really little they could do if they couldn't get the subjects to open up.

The agents decided to start by isolating the two suspects overnight, providing minimal accommodations, food and human contact. Hopefully that unnerved at least one of them enough to start talking.

Sarah decided to focus on Davis first. That would allow Cushman to suffer a little more withdrawal before she started asking him questions.

Walking back to the first room, she took a deep breath at the door. Interrogation wasn't her strong suit; Sarah much preferred being in the field. However, Director Graham claimed their resources were strapped, so she and Casey were going to need to do the bulk of the legwork. Sarah suspected the decision was at least partly based on punishing the agents for letting the third suspect escape. There were few greater punishments for a field agent than essentially getting stuck behind a desk for a while.

Nodding to the technician at the instrumentation desk, she indicated that she was ready to begin. The technician nodded back and began working the monitoring equipment that could record the activity in Davis' room. Casey was stuck working his other job this morning, and until he arrived, the technician would need to run the equipment and provide back-up in case a suspect got violent. That seemed unlikely with these two, but just in case, both suspects wore a cuff around their ankle that was attached by a cord to a metal ring embedded in the floor. As Bryce had shown, the most rigid security could be broken, so there was no need to take chances.

Assuming a blank expression, Sarah entered the room, shutting the door behind her. Rather than looking intimidated, Davis coolly looked her in the eye. "So, are we starting with the 'good cop' or the 'bad cop'?" Sarah gave him credit for the look, but he obviously had been waiting hours to use the line.

She slowly walked over to the table, the sound of her heels on the concrete floor echoing in the small room. Davis looked a little less sure of himself as she crossed the room without responding. Setting her folders and her notebook on her side of the table, Sarah slowly walked around to his side. She gently seated herself on the table next to him, her high-cut black skirt giving Davis a good look at her legs as she crossed them. He swallowed hard.

Leaning over slightly so her torso was supported by one arm, she finally answered his question with a sultry smile and a husky voice. "Which one would you like me to be? 'Good cop'?" She leaned closer towards him, causing her white blouse to part slightly. "Or 'bad cop'?"

**Scene X – Buy More**

Chuck walked nervously into the store, toting a Large Mart bag. He quickly looked around; sensing the coast was reasonably clear, he made a break for the employee lounge.

The bag contained a white aikido robe and matching white belt. He had taken his lunch break to sign up for a class at the studio that Awesome had recommended, and then slipped over to the Large Mart to pick up the necessary gear. The last thing Chuck wanted was for his co-workers to find out about his new hobby, so he wanted to get the bag into his break-room locker as quickly as possible.

Chuck had almost made it as far as the Nerd Herd desk when Morgan intercepted him. "Whatcha doing, man?"

Chuck quickly looked at him, shielding the bag a bit defensively with his body as he kept walking. "Nothing," he managed to push out. "Doing nothing. You?"

Morgan looked over curiously. "What's in the bag? Did you remember my birthday?"

Chuck's jaw dropped a little as he walked around the back of the Nerd Herd desk, setting the bag on the floor, tightly rolled shut. "You do realize your birthday isn't for two more months."

"And I'm touched that you're planning so far in advance. I am." Morgan tried to peek over the desk. "Um, so, what is it?"

"Morgan, it's not a birthday present."

"Ok, ok, don't tell me. I just want you to know: I appreciate the trouble you go through for me."

"Not really," Chuck muttered under his breath as he leaned down to push the bag under the desk. Morgan looked curiously at him, not quite able to make out what he had said. Chuck changed the subject, "So, it looks like the fight against nicotine withdrawal is going a little better."

Morgan beamed. "Yep, these patches are a life saver." He pulled up the sleeve on his green polo, showing three patches on his upper arm. "Didn't think I was going to make it until I slapped these on."

Chuck gaped. "You do know you're only supposed to use one of those at a time, right?"

"I know, Chuck, but I was really hurting. One wasn't doing it. Before the patches, I was going to break down and have a cigarette. Now I really think I'll pull through."

Chuck had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. He loved Morgan like a brother, but he was such a chore some times. However, he knew from experience that pushing back on Morgan would just make things worse. "Well, try to cut back on the number of patches, at least."

As he offered his advice, Anna walked up. "How's my brave little man?" She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her chest. "Doing better?"

Morgan smiled, enjoying his soft pillow. "I am now."

This had disaster written all over it, but for the life of him, Chuck had no idea what to do. Instead, he started looking through the queue of jobs for the Herd. It came as no real surprise to him that none of the jobs had been completed. He had to figure out a way to get these guys under control.

After snuggling with Anna for a second, Morgan pulled back and turned to Chuck. "Hey, by the way, it looks like today's deliveries have come in already." Anna whispered something in Morgan's ear; he quickly turned back to her and asked, "Really?" When she nodded with an evil grin, he grabbed her by the hand and led her towards the home theater room.

Shaking his head, Chuck tucked the bag back under the desk where it was unlikely to be found and headed back to the storage area. No deliveries were supposed to come in until later that day, but with it being the day after a holiday, the schedules sometimes got screwy.

Entering the storage cage area, Chuck saw only two boxes near the delivery dock: one a washer, one a dryer. _That's strange_, Chuck thought to himself. He picked up the clipboard with the invoice manifests and walked over to the boxes, checking the tags on top of the washing machine box.

Suddenly, Lester and Jeff burst out of their respective boxes, scaring the living daylights out of Chuck. "What the hell?" he blurted.

Jeff stared Chuck dead in the eye, and said, "Dish is a revenge best served cold." Chuck squinted as his expression turned disbelieving.

Lester looked over at Jeff, shaking his head and throwing his hands in the air in disgust. "Dude, you had one line, and you mucked it up," he said. "Now we're just going to have to get Chuck all over again." Jeff hung his head in shame.

Chuck, looking back and forth between the two, found himself protesting in a hurry. "No-o, you got me good. That's more than sufficient revenge for, for, tricking you into doing your jobs." He really had to work to force the last words out.

He couldn't understand why Lester was so hung up on the lie he had told them before Christmas. Heck, the end result was that Lester and Jeff got their work done, redeeming themselves somewhat in Big Mike's eyes after the Santa Claus incident. But for whatever reason, Lester seemed determined to make Chuck pay.

Jeff kept hanging his head. Despondently, he said, "No, Lester's right. Half of the revenge was in the line." Lester gave Jeff another look; Jeff refused to meet his gaze.

"Hey, if you want, I can go back out," Chuck said, pointing the clipboard and his opposite index finger at the door. "You two can hop back into the boxes, and we'll knock this thing out right now. I'd do that for you guys."

Jeff looked at Lester hopefully, but his expression quickly became downtrodden when he saw Lester wasn't buying it.

"Sorry, Chuck, we'll just have to figure out another act of revenge. C'mon, Jeff."

The two clambered out of their boxes. Jeff managed to trip over the top of his, ripping the cardboard down one side, ruining the box. As they headed for the door, Chuck called after them, "Hey, guys?"

The two turned. Chuck indicated the two boxes, one damaged and lying on its side, sitting in the middle of the floor with a quizzical look.

Lester looked confused for a second, and then understanding seemed to dawn on him. "Oh, thanks man. We appreciate you taking care of that for us."

Jeff added, "We'll be in the home theater room playing Unreal Tournament. Later, dude."

The pair exited.

Chuck stared after them disbelievingly. He stood without moving for a moment, debating whether it was worth chasing the pair down. When the obvious answer came to him, he sighed, cursing under his breath again.

As he cleaned up the boxes, he wondered whether he preferred being so much better at his job than anyone else, or so much worse.

**Scene XI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Casey strolled into the interrogation room with two bags of take-out from Lou's deli. The CIA facility had a cafeteria, but Casey was smart enough to avoid it. Besides, the sandwiches were terrific, and bringing Walker a sandwich from Lou's never failed to provoke a reaction. It was a win all the way around.

He reluctantly set the bags on the long table in the center of the room, avoiding the urge to tear into his sandwich immediately. He was about to head over to ask the technician how the interrogation was going when Sarah came out of the first room, shutting the door behind her. Her face told him exactly how things were going.

"What, no luck?" he asked rhetorically.

"Two hours of nothing," she replied irritably, heading over and slapping her file folders onto the table. Noticing the bags, she asked, "Lou's again?"

"Two pastramis, with everything," Casey said with the subtlest of grins.

Unfortunately, she was too preoccupied with her questioning of Davis to be bothered by the choice of sandwich. "Good. I'm starving."

Feeling a bit cheated of his fun, Casey turned back to the interrogation. "So the guy wouldn't crack?"

"Nope. He's pretty comfortable in his knowledge of 'Law and Order' and the like. He kept asking for his lawyer and a phone call, and harped on how we were violating his rights."

"Did you happen to mention his company was caught breaking into a CIA server?"

"No, I was saving that for later."

Casey nodded his agreement; it made sense to see if they could get anything else out of him first. "So nothing worked? Did you play seductress at all?"

Sarah responded, a bit sharply, "Of course."

Raising an eyebrow at her reaction, he asked, "Really?"

"Yep. I went after him; he didn't bite." Her eyes were unfocused, her tone distant; it was obvious she was thinking about something else.

Casey's eyes narrowed. "I find that hard to believe, Agent Walker. Despite my personal lack of interest, I've seen you in action and doubt a computer programmer could resist your charms. Are you certain you weren't holding back for … some reason?"

Her eyes, suddenly intense and angry, focused on him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do. It's up to us to get the job done, no matter if our personal feelings make us dislike an aspect of the mission at hand." Casey's eyes were fiery as he delivered the rebuke. His implication was clear: Casey was suggesting she was holding herself back because of her feelings for Chuck, and both of them knew it.

With a sarcastically sweet smile, Sarah responded, "I'm so glad you feel that way, Agent Casey. Because it turns out Mr. Davis is gay." As he processed what she was saying, his gut clenched. He stared off into space with a disbelieving, and slightly pained, expression.

Sarah picked up Davis' folder, and slapped it into Casey's midsection, causing him to reflexively grab it. As she walked past Casey, she smacked him on the ass, causing him to jump slightly.

"Go get 'em, tiger."


	4. Is the Lesson Over Now?

**Scene XII – Master Kwan's Dojo**

Chuck entered the martial arts studio just before 7:00. With Sarah and Casey having no luck finding out anything useful from their two captives, both were distracted enough for Chuck to slip off to class without letting them know exactly where he was going. Telling them he was staying at the Buy More plaza until 8:00 or 9:00 and then planned on heading home seemed to be enough for them.

The training room was a large rectangle, stretching about seventy feet away from the door and forty feet across. The floor and the walls were covered entirely with wood, the walls accented with small reed carpets suspended on strings and Oriental-style artwork.

Large, square, plush blue athletic mats covered the floor down the center of the room, with a pair of mats about four feet wide running down the majority of the two long sides of the room. At the far end of the room sat a small, slightly raised wooden stage with a pair of thin reed mats set opposite each other. The room smelled of a combination of linseed oil, incense and sweat.

Twenty or so people populated the room, all dressed in white robes cinched shut by cloth belts of varying colors. To Chuck's left, two men sat on a mat, legs spread apart with the bottoms of their feet pressed together, grasping arms and pulling each other to and fro. Several people stretched in ways that Chuck vaguely remembered from high school gym class; his confidence grew slightly. Then he noticed other people were taking turns running down the long mats, executing shoulder rolls and other deliberate tumbles, and his burst of confidence quickly evaporated.

Chuck spotted some cubbies along the side of the room, and dropped his bag containing his Buy More uniform, wallet, phone and keys into an empty one. He found a spot on a mat towards the back of the room and lowered himself down. As Chuck stretched his legs for the first time in months, his hamstrings felt a little uncertain at the unfamiliar strain. Chuck totally understood; they matched his mood.

To distract himself a little, Chuck glanced around the room, studying the other students. They seemed to range in age and fitness level; he was particularly relieved to see he is not the only student with a white belt, the lowest ranking in aikido. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. His expression relaxed as he switched to stretching out his groin.

An ornate wooden door at the back of the room opened, and in strode a gentleman who could only be Master Kwan; nobody but a martial arts master could pull off the Fu Manchu moustache with the elongated goatee. He wore a red robe emblazoned on the back with pictures of birds and nature scenes, with a taut black belt cinching the robe closed. Chuck's expression tightened; the guy looked like he was plucked out of a book on martial arts stereotypes.

In a faintly Korean accent, Master Kwan said, "Welcome, class. Please take your places." Students immediately scampered to open places on the central mats; Chuck moved forward to join them.

Master Kwan bowed to the group, one fist in the palm of the opposite hand. The other students bowed in return; Chuck quickly mimicked the bow as best he could. When teacher and students finished their bows, Master Kwan pressed downwards with his hands. The students immediately knelt.

Chuck dropped to his knees and studied the woman kneeling next to him. Her toes pointed straight behind her as she sat on her heels; Chuck tried assuming the same position, and his hips and ankles immediately protested.

Master Kwan gave another hand signal to the class, and the students began doing breathing exercises. His palms pressed together, Master Kwan slowly raised his hands directly over his head as he breathed in, and then lowered them as he breathed out. Again, Chuck tried to mimic the other students, but was having trouble blocking out the pain in his legs enough to focus. The other students had their eyes closed, peaceful expressions on their faces; it was all Chuck could do not to show the pain in his face.

About a minute into the exercise, he couldn't help but peek at the clock. It was 7:03.

"Enough." Master Kwan glanced in a friendly way around the room as the students met his eyes. In a quiet but commanding voice, he said, "I assume everyone has stretched, so we will move right to shoulder rolls. Line up!"

The class burst into action, with people leaping to their feet and rushing to form lines facing the long mats in opposite corners of the room. Each line adjusted so a student wearing a black belt stepped to the front. Chuck moved to the back of the line at the front of the room, a surprising hush permeating the room.

Master Kwan stepped to the center of the room, seeming to float across the mat. "Remember your form," he said, his voice echoing through the room. Almost more quickly than the eye could follow, he performed a tumble with the grace of a champion gymnast. Too bad Chuck couldn't interpret the blur of movement; he had no idea what the sensei had done. "Begin."

The black belts began at the same time, taking a step and tumbling onto their right shoulder and rolling right back onto their feet. Taking another step, they rolled onto their left shoulder, and back up again. With each move, the sound of their rustling robes broke the silence.

As the black belts began a second set of rolls, the next person in each line began their first, each line progressing as the students moved down the mats. Soon, five people were on each mat, the noise of their maneuvers adding to the growing din. Chuck's tension grew, especially when the black belt who first tumbled down the opposite mat stepped into line behind him.

Four people were left ahead of him. Chuck desperately tried to study people's form as they tumbled down the far mat. Three people were left in front of Chuck. Then two. Chuck's expression grew panicked. A 6' guy, his gut nearly bursting out of his robe, did a perfectly executed roll onto his right shoulder, then his left. A rail-thin red-headed girl who would have looked perfectly at home in a sorority picture followed suit. Chuck took a deep breath, and started to step forward when he felt a light but commanding touch on his shoulder. Master Kwan was standing right beside him.

"You are new, correct?"

Chuck, relived at the inadvertent rescue, could only nod.

"Please come with me."

A bit puzzled, Chuck followed Master Kwan onto the stage at the front of the room, where he assumed the same kneeling position that people assumed at the start of the class on one of the two mats. He beckoned Chuck to do the same on the opposite mat. Chuck gradually worked himself into the same position, trying not to wince at the strain the pose put on his inflexible muscles.

Master Kwan studied Chuck intently for a moment; Chuck began to feel a little uncomfortable. He was about to ask the teacher a question to break the silence, but the teacher spoke first.

"So, why aikido?"

Chuck was taken a bit aback by the question. "I'm sorry?"

A gentle smile crossed Master Kwan's face. "Why aikido?" he repeated.

Chuck's mind immediately went to the scene in the street, the shadowy figure racing through the night, his decision to sneak out of the car to try to take him down. Of course, that thought couldn't help Chuck answer the question. He stammered rather lamely, "Well, my roommate took aikido for a summer, and it, um, sounded like fun."

"What did he tell you about aikido?"

_Crap_. Captain Awesome had said very little, actually. "Only that it was a great way to improve flexibility and get some good exercise."

"And is that what you want?"

"Well, that and to learn how to defend myself. Can aikido help with that?"

Master Kwan's face crinkled, but Chuck couldn't tell if he was smiling or just puzzled. "Why do you want to learn how to defend yourself?"

Again, Chuck thought of the scene on the street, and quickly grasped for a suitably vague answer. "I guess I found myself in a couple of situations lately where I felt unsafe."

Once again, Master Kwan's expression changed, but Chuck had trouble reading it. Stupid moustache. "Hmm. So you look to regain a feeling of … confidence … in certain situations?" Master Kwan asked. The students continued their shoulder rolls.

Chuck felt safest just nodding, so he did.

Master Kwan directed a kind look at Chuck. "I like to speak with each student before they begin. It is important to have your mind in the right place as you begin. It is also important to me to ensure aikido can provide what each student searches for." Master Kwan paused, just long enough not to be considered overly dramatic. "Aikido can certainly help build confidence."

Chuck pressed, "And defend myself?"

Master Kwan definitely smiled. "I suppose, in time, you will learn self-defense. The class is currently working on a routine designed to defend against five men, one with a knife. But aikido is mostly about balance, self-discipline, and overall fitness."

Chuck's head spun a little; he had somewhat stopped listening midway through Master Kwan's explanation. If the class was learning to take on five attackers at the same time, surely he could handle one or two on his own in short order. Chuck nodded.

"What is truly important to remember is that aikido is the art of using the momentum of an opponent against them. Every move that you make should be in perfect harmony, and very gentle. Think … spring-like."

"Spring-like?" Chuck repeated, confused. "What, like the season?"

"Yes: spring-like. Each aikido move takes very little force to employ. You will learn."

Chuck didn't know what to say. He had never thought of fighting as gentle or spring-like. But he was willing to learn.

Master Kwan stood up, and bowed. Chuck responded with an awkward bow of his own. "Feel free to stop to ask any questions you have at any point of the class."

He then turned to survey the class, giving a satisfied nod at the shoulder roll form he witnessed. Master Kwan called out, "Enough. Class, please pair up. We will now practice throws."

Looking across the room, he called out "Jenny, please pair up with … " He looked quizzically at Chuck.

"Chuck."

"Jenny, please pair up with Chuck and show him the throws. Chuck, you will be the attacker."

Jenny turned out to be a twelve-year old girl with a brown pony tail and freckles dotting her face. A blue belt cinched shut her plain white robe. She was a good two feet shorter than Chuck, and more pounds lighter than he cared to admit. She was going to throw him?

Jenny and Chuck found a place on a mat, faced each other and bowed. She held out her right arm, and instructed, "OK, grab my right wrist with your right hand." She stuck out her right arm straight at Chuck, arm angled slightly downwards.

Chuck gently reached out, tentatively placing his right hand gently around her wrist. "Like this?"

Her left hand whipped across, settling on the back of his. Her fingers wrapped around the butt of her hand, with the thumb at the base of his pinky. Before he knew it, she torqued his hand, and the pain in his wrist caused him to flip himself over to avoid having his wrist broken. Chuck landed very roughly on his back, eyes open in surprised, mouth agape. He looked up at her, "That wasn't very spring-like," he gasped.

She offered a hand to help him up. "Ready to go again?" she inquired. "Try to shoulder roll this time." Chuck didn't bother to explain he missed that part of the class for the little heart-to-heart with the sensei.

Jenny threw Chuck again. And again. And again. Each time he landed almost flat on his back, and it was beginning to take its toll. After the tenth time, a painful landing after she had turned his wrist particularly hard, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "You're not a girl scout, are you?"

Jenny just smiled. Chuck groaned as she helped him up.

**Scene XIII – Casa Bartowski**

Chuck stumbled through the front door, still in his white robe, obviously in pain. Ellie was gathering some things off the kitchen table into her bag, wearing her customary blue scrubs. Her face lit up when she noticed Chuck. "Hey, stranger!" She headed into the kitchen, grabbing Tupperware containers and food from various places in the kitchen and assembling them into a refrigerator pack.

"Hey, yourself," Chuck shot back wearily, dropping his bag and collapsing on the couch. He was very glad it was Ellie and not Devon in the kitchen; he couldn't handle Awesome right now.

Ultimately, the class had turned out OK. Chuck was finally getting the hang of landing when the command to switch roles was given. When Chuck struggled at first to get the grip for the throw right, Master Kwan had come over to offer some pointers. Eventually, Chuck was able to get the grip well enough to flip little Jenny.

Later, they spent some time learning the routine to fight five men, although the instructor focused on teaching the class the individual moves rather than explaining how the moves translated into fighting off multiple attackers. Still, it was a start, albeit a painful one.

"What's with the robe?" Ellie finally asked with a puzzled expression.

Chuck sighed. "Oh, Awesome was talking about an aikido class he took one summer. I've been looking to get in better shape, so I tried one out." OK, at least that wasn't a lie. It wasn't the whole truth, either, but Chuck was used to winning the battles and not the war these days.

"Huh, I didn't know Devon ever took aikido. Still, I love the way you keep trying out new things. Beats sitting around and playing shoot-'em-up games with Morgan. Which reminds me, I think I heard the Morgan door a little bit ago?"

Chuck wasn't too happy to learn Morgan was there. He wasn't sure whether Morgan would mock the robes or feel left out because Chuck went to the class without him, and he wasn't looking forward to finding out. "Well, I'd better go say 'Hi.'"

"That's fine; I'm heading out for the late shift anyway." She dropped her refrigerator pack into her bag, and moved quickly towards Chuck. Chuck managed to get to his feet as she approached. Stopping when they stood face-to-face, she threw an arm around his shoulders; Chuck stifled a pained groan. "It's sad we never see each other any more," she said as she let go.

He smiled, especially since they were back on stable ground with regards to the truth. "I miss you, too. Hey, but tomorrow night: Casa Bartowski, right? Awesome's margaritas, your Tex-mex…"

Casa Bartowski was a bit of slang: about once a month, they would invite only their closer friends over. Ellie would throw a bunch of Tex-Mex fixings on the counter alongside a pitcher of margaritas, and people would just help themselves. Very casual and very relaxed. Chuck realized he could use a little relaxation. And a masseuse armed with a syringe of painkillers.

"I can't wait. Sarah is coming, right?"

Chuck grinned despite himself, "Yep."

Ellie's smile grew to match his. "Man, has she got you wrapped around her finger."

Chuck's grin shrank a bit. He put forth what he hoped was a strong denial, more for his own sake than for Ellie's. "Oh, c'mon. She does not."

"Whatever. I'm just glad that if I have to lose you to somebody, it's somebody who makes you smile like that." She kissed Chuck on the forehead, and turned for the door. "Good night, Charles," she said fondly.

"Good night, Eleanor."

The door closed behind her and the house got quiet in a hurry.

With Ellie's words echoing in his head, Chuck stumbled back towards his room. He wondered for the umpteenth time what he was going to do about Sarah; he had to figure out a way to get over her.

After opening the door, he immediately noticed that his window sat slightly ajar, with the open blinds fluttering in the breeze. Remembering what Ellie said, he called out, "Morgan?"

There was no answer. _Odd_. Chuck grew suspicious: Morgan almost always closed the window when he came or left. And with no sign of Morgan…

He took a quick look around the room; there were a few things that looked out of place. A couple of boxes stuck out from under the bed, and one of his white Buy More shirts lay on the ground, sticking out of the mostly-closed closet door, hanger still intact. It was then he heard a creak come from the closet.

"Casey," Chuck hissed, hoping his neighbor could hear him through the bugs in the room. He had no real idea whether Casey would be back from the interrogation facility yet.

Stubbornly ignoring his instincts, Chuck tightened his belt to close his robe and slid further into the room. He looked around for some kind of weapon, but the controller for "Guitar Hero" wasn't going to cut it. _Some spy you are_. Again, his resolve tightened.

Chuck crept towards the closet, trying to move like Sarah or Casey did when they wanted to stay silent. Ready for the door to burst open at any moment, he inched the last few feet across the floor. After what seemed like an eternity, he was close enough to be able to touch the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he quickly grabbed the door knob and yanked the door open … and saw nothing but a poorly organized closet with the Buy More shirt lying on the ground.

Suddenly, he realized how stupid he had been. Had some attacker lurked in his closet, what would he have done? His insecurity over the other night was obviously getting to him, and the results weren't pretty.

Sighing with relief, Chuck stepped into the door of the closet and bent over to pick up the shirt. As he stood up, there was a blood-curdling yell from high in the closet and the sound of wood cracking. Chuck looked up to see Morgan, along with the closet shelf and its contents, come crashing down from the top of the closet. Morgan's full weight knocked Chuck to the ground, and Morgan landed squarely on top of Chuck. Chuck couldn't breathe.

Morgan jumped to his feet, "Dude, I totally got you!" Chuck still couldn't breathe, but he had enough strength to shift his head slightly to glare incredulously at Morgan.

Morgan didn't seem to mind. "Nice robes, man. You gonna show me your crane style?" Morgan's hands moved in an exaggerated imitation of Bruce Lee.

Chuck's glare deepened; he would have bet money the moment before that wasn't possible.

"Totally nailed you," Morgan said, joyfully emphasizing the statement with his hands. He strode towards the bedroom door, then turned around. "I'm thinking pizza for dinner; you in?"

Chuck looked at Morgan upside-down from his prone position, unable to speak; even Chuck couldn't have said if it was due to anger or pain.

After a long silence, Morgan decided for Chuck. "I'm gonna take that as a 'no'." He headed through the door. "I'll just grab some leftovers from the frig, then."

Chuck slowly lay his head back down. Catching his breath, he managed to mutter, in a bad French accent, "Ah … the old closet ploy. I do enjoy a good closet ploy."

Chuck pushed himself up onto his elbows. Well, there was only one way could feel worse, and that was if…

"Wow, now Morgan's taking you down?" Casey shot an evil grin at Chuck through the blinds in the window, his gun pointed down at the ground at his side. "That's worse than a girl scout."

Chuck lay back down. There didn't really seem to be a good reason to get up.

"Looks like you need a couple more lessons, sensei. Heh."


	5. Flaring Tempers

**Scene XIV – CIA Facility**

The next morning, Casey met Chuck at the entrance of the plain-looking CIA facility to escort him inside. Chuck was not moving particularly well after his class the previous night, but it was nothing four or six Advil couldn't help.

However, the medication wasn't helping him deal with the mocking grin on Casey's face. Casey chuckled under his breath a couple of times, trying to goad Chuck into talking about the incident with Morgan. Chuck decided to ignore him, so the pair rode the elevator in silence, a bad Muzak version of REO Speedwagon's "I'm Gonna Keep on Loving You" filling their ears. The Muzak was only slightly better than talking to Casey would have been.

Sarah had called Chuck early that morning, waking him from a sound sleep. Today was supposed to be an off day, at least at the Buy More. Chuck had been looking forward to a couple extra hours of sleep to heal his various bruises, especially the ones to his ego. However, duty called; they were asking for his help.

He couldn't pass that up, in more ways then one. It was nice to be needed; that didn't seem to happen often enough in his spy role. Besides, you didn't exactly say 'no' when the CIA came calling, especially when your neighbor was an NSA killing machine.

The pair took the elevator to the third floor, exiting into the empty, sterile white hallways. The Muzak slowly faded as the elevator doors shut, replaced by silence interrupted only by the sounds of their echoing footfalls.

About halfway down the main hall from the elevator, Casey opened a door on the left-hand side of the corridor. They entered into the corner of a large rectangular room with three sets of doors and long windows running the length of the back wall, one set for each interrogation room. Their two prisoners from the other night were in the end rooms; the middle room was empty.

Under the middle window sat a long desk with three sets of recording equipment. Each set of equipment was hooked to an overhead monitor displaying the current feed from a corresponding room. The monitors displayed the current time and a running counter of the feed from its room, with the center monitor not recording.

A pair of rolling office chairs sat pushed away from the front of the desk. Perched on the right end of the desk was a small computer terminal; the screen-saver was running, the CIA emblem dancing randomly about the screen.

Towards the center of the room was a large rectangular wooden table with a dark stain surrounded by a scattered formation of six chocolate-colored leather chairs with high backs; both the chairs and the table looked like they had seen better days. The table was covered by half-empty coffee mugs, notepads and fairly orderly stacks of paper. Sarah sat in a chair on the far side of the table; hearing them enter, she set down a stack of papers and stood up to greet them.

As Chuck and Casey made their way towards her, Chuck eyed a stack of boxes and computer equipment sitting in the other corner of the room running along the hallway. He recognized the items from the suspects' office; a cleaning crew had swept in and packed up everything that looked relevant. Most of the boxes had obviously been opened since their move, likely explaining the stacks of papers on the center table. However, the computers looked like they hadn't been touched.

Chuck was stunned: given what the suspects supposedly did, the computers should have been the first priority. "What, nobody's looked at the servers yet?"

Casey answered, "Nope. Whenever we ask the IT department when they could spare a guy to take a look, we get the confidence-inspiring response of 'some time soon'."

"Ah." Chuck had some experience working with information technology departments at the Buy More. They usually weren't the most efficient operations. Why should the CIA be any different?

"That's why I had you come in," Sarah said.

Chuck's face went flat. "What?"

"We need the computers set up, and we need to find out what's on them. We can't wait any longer."

Chuck's heart sank. Of course it was. His job was to do his job, only for the CIA, and for free. Thinking through what he would need to do, he hoped - and searched - for a way out. "Well, I can set up the systems, but I'm not sure it will do us any good, unless these guys feel like sharing their passwords."

Sarah pointed to a set of compact disks in envelopes stacked on a corner of the desk. "We did get a guy to bring down some password-hacking software. Should be plug-and-play; boot the computer with the disk in the drive, and the software will lead you down the path. Let me know if you find anything." She turned back to Casey; she started showing him some notes on a yellow legal pad.

Well, at least the hacking software would be cool. Still, Chuck was in a grouchy mood because of his assignment. He looked around the room, searching for a likely place to set up the machines. The center table was covered, as was the desk with the monitoring equipment, so they were out. There wasn't any other furniture in the room. "Can I get an extension cord, a power strip, and maybe a long folding table?"

Without looking up, Casey responded, "What you see is what we have. Make it work."

Terrific. There was a single unused paired outlet towards the corner with the boxes, but no table meant he'd either be sitting Indian-style or laying on his stomach as he worked, and no power strip meant he could only have one machine up at a time rather than working on them in parallel. It all made for a long day.

Chuck rolled up his sleeves as he petulantly shuffled over to the computer equipment.

**Scene XV – Buy More**

Morgan looked like death warmed over. He barely heard the pimply-faced teenager ask her question - for the third time. He shook himself out of his fog. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

The customer had clearly had enough of Morgan. Arms folded, she enunciated, "The. Latest. Smoking. Popes. Album. Idiot."

Finally registering what she was saying, he responded, "No, no, you don't want that! The band just threw together a bunch of cover songs to get out of their record contract. That's a terrible album. Besides, take it from me: you don't want anything to do with anything with the word 'smoking' in it." He nodded sagely.

The girl shook her head and walked away, disgusted.

"Stay away from cigarettes!" Morgan shouted after her. Even raising his voice seemed difficult given his energy level. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into a chair somewhere; the urge to find a cigarette was driving him crazy. At least he had gotten the message out to one young person.

Jeff and Lester wandered up. Without Chuck around, Lester was technically in charge of the Nerd Herd desk, which meant that absolutely nothing was getting done.

Lester said, "I see even the young girls know to stay away from you."

Jeff added, "Probably better. Sixteen will get you 20, dude."

"Don't do the crime if you won't do the time."

"That's what Mom always said."

Morgan asked, "Isn't your mom actually doing the time right now?"

"Yep. She practices what she preaches." Jeff actually looked a little proud. Morgan just shook his head.

Lester said, "So, my compadre and I were about to head out back for a little constitutional. Interested?" Jeff pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, giving them a little shake.

Morgan's face was shocked. "C'mon, guys, you know I'm trying to quit."

Lester feigned shock. "Really? I had forgotten. Jeff?"

"Why, me too." He put away the cigarettes.

"Well, if you're trying to quit, I might have a little something here you'd be interested in." Lester patted his shirt pocket suggestively.

Morgan looked cautiously interested. "What's that?"

He pulled out a green box. "Nicotine gum. Guaranteed to wean you off that nasty cigarette habit, one minty chew at a time."

Jeff obviously was bothered by the 'nasty habit' comment. "Dude!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms.

Lester shook his head, holding out a hand. "No offense."

Jeff immediately calmed down. "None taken."

"Why can't I just walk down to the drug store and buy a pack myself?"

"This is the good stuff. Prescription only, my friend."

Jeff added, "I borrowed a prescription pad from my doctor."

Lester turned to look at Jeff. "Really?"

Jeff just nodded. Lester muttered, "Speaking of getting twenty…"

Morgan said, "So what's the catch?"

"Nothing for nothing, my friend. Nothing for nothing."

"What do you want?"

"I believe you have an almost-new Xbox game in your locker, given to you as a Christmas present. Straight-up trade."

Jeff added, "Plus a bag of Cheetos from the vending machine."

Lester directed an annoyed look at Jeff. Jeff shrugged. "What? I'm hungry."

Lester rolled his eyes. "Fine. The Xbox game and the bag of Cheetos, and you're one step closer to ditching that disgusting addiction."

Jeff once again looked insulted. "Dude!"

"No offense."

"None taken."

Morgan looked completely torn. "C'mon, Anna gave me that game for Christmas. She wrote me a note inside the case and everything. I can't trade that."

Lester said, "OK, Morgan. Your call." He turned to walk away.

Jeff looked dismayed. "What about my Cheetos?" he whispered angrily.

Lester whispered back, "I'll buy you the stupid Cheetos. C'mon."

As the two started to walk off, Morgan agonized further. He let them get twenty feet away before calling out, "Wait!"

The pair turned around, evil smiles on their faces. "Yes?" Lester asked.

Morgan caved. "I'll go get the game."

Jeff's raised his eyebrows. "And the Cheetos?"

Morgan sighed. "And the Cheetos. Man, you guys are so wrong." He trudged past them towards the back of the store, shoulders slouched.

Jeff looked at Lester. "Think he'll figure out we replaced the real gum with Trident?"

Lester shook his head. "Doubtful. But even then, we'll already have the game. And then the fun begins." The two bumped fists.

Looking after Morgan, Lester added, "Besides, it's bad enough having one co-worker who smells like an ash tray."

"Dude!"

Lester looked at Jeff pointedly.

Jeff slumped. "Yeah, I know."

**Scene XVI – CIA Interrogation Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

The printer hummed with quiet efficiency, building a stack of printouts page by page. The printer represented something of a moral victory for Chuck; however, that victory had come with a cost.

Every time that day that Chuck had asked for something, Sarah or Casey would rather irritably tell him to make do with what he had. He finally convinced the duo that he needed a printer by telling them that he would need to transcribe about fifty pages of code onto notebook pages, which would take at least ten hours. Of course, he could also print them out in about ten minutes with a decent printer.

Being a CIA facility, Sarah reluctantly made several calls and filled out a requisition. Her conversations often involved a raised voice and talk of calling Director Graham. She was obviously unhappy with the distraction; neither Casey nor Sarah seemed to be making any headway with the suspects – not that they were exactly going out of their way to fill him in. Chuck started getting grouchier.

While waiting for the printer, Chuck took a moment to check out both of the detainees. Davis still looked bored more than anything; he seemed to be counting holes on the ceiling tiles.

Walking back across the room, he stole a quick peek at Sarah. She sat at the center table, trying to make sense of the stacks of papers in front of her. She looked exhausted; Chuck wondered if more coffee would help.

Arriving at the window to the third room, Chuck observed Cushman with his head face down on the table, resting his head on his arms. Casey was trying to talk to him, but the suspect refused to pick his head up off the table. Occasionally, Cushman's head would move as if he was responding to one of Casey's questions, but the motion always quieted quickly.

Casey delivered one final threat, which elicited absolutely no reaction from Cushman. Obviously frustrated, Casey exited the room. Sarah raised an eyebrow as he shut the door behind him.

"No, nothing," he said tersely in response to Sarah's unspoken query. He walked over to the monitoring desk, pressing a button to digitally mark the current point on the recording.

Chuck wandered partway back towards the table, looking back and forth between the pair. "Two days, and nothing from either one of them?"

Casey looked disdainfully at Chuck as he took a seat by the center table. "Not nothing," he answered, holding up a pad of paper with some writing on it. He reassessed. "Well, nothing much."

Sarah stood up and took the pad from Casey. "Suspect #1 is Brent Davis. He is the majority owner of BD Security Associates, the same company that owns the offices we raided the other night. The company does security assessments for businesses, assessing their defenses against hackers, viruses, etc. And apparently, he's gay." Sarah gave a little sideways look at Casey with a knowing little grin.

Chuck, following her gaze, asked with a low laugh, "You didn't…?"

Casey spun the chair around, glaring at Chuck. Then he mouthed one word: "Mor-gan."

Chuck's amusement faded in a hurry. "Point taken. Suspect #2 is…?"

Sarah gave Chuck and Casey each a curious glance, but continued, "Suspect #2 is their developer, Jeremy Cushman. Seems like he's the guy who does all the coding and the legwork, while Davis does the business development and sales."

Casey said, "Research suggests they're a small start-up outfit, which means long hours and low pay. The company was founded early last year, and they only have a handful of customers. Business details are sketchy at best; they haven't even had to file taxes yet."

Sarah said, "Davis won't say anything else other than to ask what he's done wrong, and demand a phone call and a lawyer. Cushman won't say anything about what he was working on; he won't violate the nondisclosure agreement with their client without some kind of warrant, and he's complaining about a headache."

Sarah stopped. Chuck raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his surprise. "That's it? Really?"

Sarah ran a hand over her tired eyes, a frustrated expression coming to her face. "Chuck, if these guys were agents, we could interrogate them a bit more vigorously. As it stands, we may need to pass them back to the police for processing, and they wouldn't look kindly on some of the techniques we would normally use."

"The police aren't the problem; it's the damn lawyers," Casey interjected.

Chuck ignored Casey's political commentary. "How much longer can you keep them?"

"Without charging them? We've got enough evidence that they tried to penetrate a CIA server that we can keep them another day or so. But then we'll have to file formal charges, which means turning them over to the cops."

Sarah turned back towards Casey. "Hey, I may have found something. Come take a look."

"In a minute. I gotta hit the head."

Sarah sat back down and re-examined the document she had been reading. She apparently had some trouble understanding what she was reading, because she would periodically read parts of the document out loud with a confused tone to her voice.

While she was reading, Chuck walked back over to Cushman's room. Cushman just lay there like a lump. Something bothered him about the scene; he felt like he was missing something. He stood there for a moment, trying put the pieces together. Finally, he figured it out. Without really thinking, he blurted out, "Let me take a try at him."

"No, Chuck, we really need the information off the computers. We need something to loosen their tongues, and the computers are the best shot." She put both arms back on the table to support herself as she looked back over the document.

"C'mon, I did a pretty good job with Liniman."

Sarah never even looked up, but her tone did get a bit sharper. "No, Chuck. Focus on the computers."

Chuck felt dismayed; he knew how to get Cushman to talk. A little more assertively, he said, "Look, Cushman's a programmer, and I think…"

Frustrated, Sarah slammed the table with her hands before turning around, eyes aflame. "Chuck! Just do the computers."

Chuck clenched his jaw. A little more sharply than he intended, he replied, "Fine." He walked slowly back over towards the computers.

Sarah sat down and picked up the stack of papers from the table, angrily rifling through them. Unable to focus, her eyes kept flipping over to Chuck as he headed past her back towards his corner. Sarah's expression held equal parts anger and frustration.

Unable to contain herself, she shot out of the chair and stalked after Chuck. Hearing Sarah's angry footsteps, Chuck turned around and watched her approach, arms crossed, his facial expression as closed as his body language.

Before she had quite gotten over to Chuck, she hissed, "What's your problem?" She crossed the last few feet to stand a little too close to him, trying to keep their conversation somewhat private in case Casey returned quickly.

Matching her heated whisper, Chuck asked, "My problem?"

"Yes, Chuck, your problem. Why can't you just do what I ask?"

"Well, next time you ask me to do something, I'll do it. But you've just been ordering me around all day."

"We've only got so much time, and we can't sit around and debate what to do all day."

"What debate? I'm just trying to contribute, and nobody's listened to a word I've said all day."

"That's not true."

"Oh, really?"

"I got you your printer, didn't I?" Even as she said it, Sarah's eyes seemed to acknowledge how lame the statement sounded. Her frustration only grew.

"Oh, thanks so much. I only had to beg for that."

"As part of the team, sometimes you need to just follow orders."

"Yes, but if I were part of the team, wouldn't that imply having at least a little input?"

Sarah spoke as if explaining things to a child. "And you do. But sometimes, you just need to follow orders so we can get things done efficiently. Like right now."

Her tone amplified Chuck's anger. "Great. You'll say, 'Chuck, just wait in the car.' And I'll say 'Yes, Agent Casey.' 'Yes, Agent Walker.' And maybe at the end of the mission, I'll get a 'Good job, Chuck,' and a pat on the head."

With a cruel smile, she said, "Well, maybe if you actually stay in the car that time."

Chuck's eyes went wide at her statement; she might as well have slapped him across the face. Her words struck directly at his deepest insecurities.

Sarah's steely expression drained from her face almost as soon as the last word left her mouth. Her eyes showed her regret; there was a long, awkward pause before she spoke. "Chuck, I…" Her face was apologetic, but she couldn't seem to force out any other words.

"No need to say anything else." The glint of the pendant on her necklace distracted him for a moment; he swallowed hard. He didn't know what he felt, but he needed to walk away. In a soft voice, he said, "I'll just be over here working on the computers."

The door to the hallway opened; Sarah and Chuck immediately looked over, expecting to see Casey return. Instead, a guy in a blue dress shirt and dark slacks pushed a dolly carrying a laser printer and several reams of paper through the doorway. "Somebody order a printer?"

Chuck raised his hand, glad for the distraction. Pointing over towards his corner with the raised hand, he cleared his throat and said, "Please put it over there." He turned away from Sarah and walked over towards the spot he had indicated, not giving her another look.

He didn't see Sarah stare after him for a long moment, helplessness and sadness clearly etched on her face.


	6. Cracking the Coder

**Scene XVII – CIA Interrogation Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Agent Casey re-entered the main chamber holding a cup of tea, a bag of small pretzels captured between the thumb and forefinger of the same hand. His head was down as came into the room; he fished a couple of pretzels from the bag and tossed them into his mouth. When he looked up, he slowed, taking in the scene in front of him.

There was some serious tension in the room. Something had happened while he was gone.

Bartowski was lying on his stomach, his spine straight as an arrow, his face taut. He didn't seem to be doing anything other than waiting for the newly arrived printer to finish spitting out page after printed page. That seemed especially odd until Casey noticed the cord to the monitor was unplugged; there weren't enough outlets, so Bartowski needed to unplug the monitor in order to plug in the printer.

Casey grunted as he recognized Bartowski's problem: with their focus on the suspects, they hadn't really paid attention when Chuck had asked for the power strip. Chuck really needed to learn how to assert himself better when he needed something.

Still, that didn't explain the tension in the room.

Agent Walker sat in her chair with some papers in her lap, staring vacantly into space. Examining her posture, he noted that her shoulders sat higher than they should have, something that often happened when she was nervous or stressed. Casey frowned. The vacant stare could just have been about fatigue, but he doubted it. The part of him that that was an NSA agent and the part of him that was Sarah's partner agreed on the same course of action.

"Agent Walker," Casey said.

"What?"

"When was the last time you slept?"

At that, she shook herself out of her trance and started messing with the papers in her lap. "I grabbed a couple of hours last night. I'm fine."

He started walking over to the desk, fiddling with the monitoring equipment in between glances at Walker. "Actually, you're not. You worked 28 of the last 30 hours, and if memory serves, you and Bartowski have a dinner appointment at 1900."

She glanced at the clock on the wall; it read 2:43 pm. "That's right."

"Head home and grab some shut-eye; Bartowski and I will keep working. We've got one more day to make this work, and you need to be fresh tomorrow."

Walker looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Wearily, she dropped the pages onto the table. She extracted herself from the chair and moved over to monitoring desk, right next to Casey. She pulled a set of keys and a few other things from one of the drawers, the jingling noise providing a counterpoint to the hum of the fluorescent lights and the repetitive clicking of the printer. Straightening her shoulders, she walked away without saying a word.

Casey turned around so he could watch both of them. Sarah's eyes fixed on the exit and never wavered as she crossed the room. Chuck resolutely kept his eyes on the blank monitor screen until just before Sarah left the room, when he stole the quickest of peeks. The two said nothing to each other.

That confirmed his instincts about the tension in the room. There was only one question left: what were Chuck and Sarah fighting about?

Whatever the reason, this could be made to work to his advantage.

His curiosity piqued, Casey wandered over towards Bartowski, deliberately assuming a casual stance. It was time to go fishing again. "Don't mind Agent Walker. She's tired and frustrated; we all get there. Whatever she said, she probably didn't mean."

Bartowski glanced suspiciously at Casey as he spoke. Casey knew he had to be careful; it wasn't like him to apologize for somebody, and even Bartowski would realize that.

Apparently, Bartowski couldn't come up with any reason to stay suspicious, because his expression relaxed. "Yeah, well, we're all frustrated. I was just trying to pitch in, and she shot me down before I could even make a suggestion." The printer stopped printing; he got up to swap the plugs in the wall outlet.

Casey was disappointed: he thought he may have caught the two having a lover's quarrel. Despite their protestations, he suspected that there were still feelings between them, even if both of them seemed to fight them every step of the way. But Bartowski wasn't a good enough liar to make up something like that so quickly, so Casey took it at face value.

The NSA agent noted that a fight over Bartowski's work could still prove useful. "What were you going to suggest?"

Once again, Bartowski looked a little suspicious. And once again, he was able to come up with no good reason to be suspicious. Walking back towards Casey, he said, "I have an idea about how to get Cushman to open up – if you'll let me talk to him."

_Crap_. Casey was more than a little skeptical. Despite getting Liniman to talk, Bartowski was hardly an impressive interrogator. "The guy's a lump right now. He's not responding to his name, let alone questioning."

"Walk me down to the cafeteria. I'll explain what I'm thinking along the way."

Casey was about to protest, but Chuck cut him off. "I know, I know: saracastic remark, cutting remark, blah blah blah. Why don't we cut to the part where you say, 'What have we got to lose?' to save us all some time."

Casey gave him a sardonic smile and a shoulder shrug. "What have we got to lose?"

**Scene XVIII – Buy More**

Morgan wandered through the Buy More, energetically greeting customers as he moved from section to section.

"Hi, welcome to Buy More!"

"Ma'am, that shade of magenta looks marvelous on you. You look positively radiant."

"Video cameras? That would be to the left of the big screen TV department. Tell them Morgan sent you."

He felt so good that he didn't even bother to try to avoid Big Mike as he strolled towards him.

"Hey, big man! Wait, did you lose weight?"

Big Mike actually smiled. "Actually, I'm down a pound and a half. Does it show?"

"Does it show? Those pants are practically falling off of you."

Big Mike's looked extraordinarily pleased as the two passed each other. He said, to himself, "I think I've earned myself a cinnamon bun." He kept walking right out the front door of the store.

Morgan continued towards the home theater room, where Anna was waiting for an afternoon gaming break. He tunelessly hummed a song as he almost danced the last dozen feet to the door.

Jeff and Lester were far enough back in the shadow of a Buy More sales banner that Morgan didn't see them until Lester spoke.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Grimes?" Lester asked. Lester and Jeff both leaned back against the wall, staring coldly at Morgan. Lester had changed into the monogrammed shirt Tang had given him; he calmly chewed on a toothpick.

Jeff slowly picked a Cheeto from the bag Morgan had bought for him, squinting his eyes as he deliberately bit the bright orange rod in half. The effect was more disconcerting than intimidating.

"Oh, hey, guys: gotta thank you. The gum? A lifesaver. Seriously."

"So glad to hear it. But I'm afraid the rules have changed."

Morgan looked back and forth between the pair. "Rules? What are you talking about?"

The duo started talking in turn, with Lester starting.

"Seems to me we have a couple of things you'll be needing."

"More of the gum."

"And the video game."

At the last, Morgan became confused. "Why would I need the video game?"

Lester stood up from the wall, switching the toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue.

"Well, I have to wonder how the lovely Miss Wu would react when she finds out that you traded her Christmas gift for some gum. Jeff, how do you think she'd take that?"

"Badly," Jeff said. He plucked another Cheeto from the bag, shoving the entire length into his mouth with a crunch, leaving orange crumbs on his lips and fingers. He sucked the bright orange flecks off his fingertips; again, the effect was more than a little disconcerting. Morgan shook his head with disgust.

"We wouldn't want Miss Wu finding out, would we?" Lester asked, his tone full of innuendo.

"What, now you guys are blackmailing me?"

"'Blackmail' is such an ugly word. We are simply making you aware of what could happen if you don't perform certain favors for us."

"Unbelievable. You guys are unbelievable."

"What would be unbelievable would be a recitation of what Miss Wu wrote on the game liner. Shall I read it aloud? Maybe in the home theater room?"

Morgan looked nervously through the open window, where Anna was sitting on the couch. With a defeated expression, he said, "No, no, don't. What do you want?"

"Right now? A soft pretzel from the food court. Jeff?"

"A large Pepsi. None of that Coke crap." He delicately selected another Cheeto from the bag and shoved the length into his mouth.

Shoulders slumping, Morgan said, "I'll be right back."

**Scene XIX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room #3**

Chuck walked up to the door to the interrogation room carrying a heavy brown bag, a notebook, and a file folder with papers. For the third time in three months, he prepared to interrogate a suspect. "This is too weird," he muttered to himself, stealing a peek at Cushman through the inset window. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Casey, who opened the door. After he walked through, Casey closed and locked the door behind him.

Cushman didn't move as Chuck entered the room, his footsteps echoing in the small space. He walked over and deliberately dropped the file folder onto the table. Jeremy still didn't move. Chuck set the bag on the table and unrolled the top. Still nothing from Cushman. Chuck sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table from the suspect. Cushman never moved, not even when Chuck put his feet up on the table.

Chuck idly read through the pages of Jeremy's computer code, not saying a word, apparently content to sit there for the time being.

Outside, Casey flipped the audio onto the speakers and resumed staring through the window. "What the hell is he doing?" Casey grumbled. "Trying to bore him into submission?" It was one of Bartowski's greatest talents. If he brought in Grimes as well, he might violate the Geneva Convention. Casey chuckled to himself, wishing Walker were there so he could needle her with that remark.

Inside the room, Chuck flipped a page to the back of the stack, loudly and deliberately. Jeremy still didn't move.

Without looking up from the code, Chuck reached into the bag, and pulled out a can of Red Bull, setting it gently on the table. He popped the top with one hand.

Cushman's head shot up from the table.

Without looking up, Chuck took a drink. "Interesting. This a Markov model you used to probe a site's security?"

His eyes never leaving the can, Jeremy answered in a hoarse and pained voice, "No-o, it's a variable-order Bayesian network model."

Chuck grunted, taking a long swig from the can. With a slight catch in his voice, he said, "That's powerful stuff." It wasn't clear if he was talking about the algorithm or the beverage. "Helps the machine learn about the security features, I take it?"

Chuck looked up at the end of his question in time to see Jeremy nod, staring longingly at the can. He had his hands along the sides of his head as if in pain, elbows resting on the table.

Looking back at the code, Chuck emptied the can with a long pull, and threw it over his shoulder into the corner. The clanging sound echoed through the room, causing Jeremy to clutch his head tighter with his hands. He pulled another can from the bag and popped the top, staring at the papers in his lap. He stayed silent for a few minutes, occasionally making a notation or shifting a page to the back of the stack.

Cushman looked back and forth between the can and Chuck. Hesitantly, he asked, "Do you … Do you have an extra one of those?"

Chuck gave him a sad smile. "Unfortunately, I only have a few cans, and I'm going to have to slog through all this code," he said, holding up the sheaf of papers. "I'll need them all to make it through what's likely to be a long day."

Jeremy's face looked truly agonized. Chuck was quiet for a moment, staring at the top page with a puzzled expression on his face, voicelessly reading the code on the page.

He looked over at Jeremy as if he'd just had a thought. "Unless you could give me hand understanding what I'm looking at?"

Cushman's face became conflicted; he licked his lips.

In the outer room, Casey tilted his head to the side with a subtly impressed expression. He hadn't really expected Bartowski's buddy-with-a-six-pack routine to work, but he hadn't really believed that Cushman's withdrawal could be caused by Red Bull either. It was amazing what people did to their bodies.

Having watched Morgan go through a similar withdrawal, Bartowski thought Red Bull was the likely cause, especially given the pile of cans in the corner of Cushman's office. It was something the agents had missed; they were focused on the computers and the documents, not a recycling bin. Again, sloppy work on their part.

This success made today a home run as far as Casey was concerned. The mission at hand had advanced: getting Cushman to crack was a big deal, and might provide what they needed to get Davis talking as well.

On top of that, Bartowski was clearly looking for some on-the-job validation, and he, not Agent Walker, had given it to him. That would only serve to build Bartowski's trust in him, and that would serve him well when the time came.

The NSA agent in him was generally pleased. However, things weren't perfect.

Bartowski's success with Cushman would complicate things a little. Originally, he had planned to keep the interrogation a secret between Chuck and him, but now he would have to tell Sarah how Chuck ended up in the interrogation room instead of focusing on the computers as she had asked.

He wasn't prepared to amplify the friction between himself and Walker … yet. He would have to think about that.

**Scene XX – Sarah's Hotel Room**

Sarah tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. She would lie still for a moment, but wouldn't be able to get comfortable and would inevitably shift to a different position.

It seemed impossible that she couldn't sleep given the previous two days, but there was just too much going on in her head. She finally kicked off the bright white comforter in frustration, her red Christmas pajamas highlighted against the spotless white sheets.

Sarah was frustrated on a number of levels. At the moment, she was staring at the ceiling as she agonized over her job. Her job was her identity, and Director Graham had made it clear how unhappy he was with their failure to capture the third suspect or make any progress via interrogation. Her mind revisited the different interrogation techniques they had tried on the surprisingly stubborn suspects. Davis had flat-out chosen not to believe them when they told him that they had hit a CIA server, and Cushman wasn't talking at all.

Maybe they would have to figure out what drug Cushman craved; it wasn't necessarily ethical, but at this point she was desperate to get the two suspects talking.

Again getting nowhere thinking about the detainees, Sarah fixated on the third suspect. They had been sloppy when they entered the offices, choosing not to do any advance surveillance and assuming that the two men from the briefing would be the only two in the office. She kicked herself for the umpteenth time. If Casey and Sarah had caught the third suspect at the scene, the last forty-eight hours would have gone so differently.

The mission would have been wrapped up in one night. Chuck wouldn't have been put in danger. She wouldn't be lying there, exhausted and miserable. And she never would have said what she had said to Chuck that afternoon.

The worst part about what she said was that there was a large kernel of truth in it. There were times when Chuck just needed to stay out of the action, both for his own safety and so the agents could focus on the mission at hand. Now, convincing Chuck of that without crushing his ego would be unbelievably difficult.

If they had caught the third suspect, Chuck would likely have gone out on their date, giving her a chance to talk to him. Instead, she doubted he even wanted to think about her right now.

Sarah rolled over to the edge of the bed, putting her feet on the floor and hunching over. Her head felt cloudy; every instinct told her to tumble back onto the bed. She looked over at the clock; it read 4:45. She had the alarm and a wake-up call set for just before 6:00; if she could fall asleep, it could still do her some good. She lay back down, pulling the comforter back up to her neck, burrowing into its warmth. Still, sleep wouldn't come.

She started thinking about the two suspects again, beginning her circle of thought again.

**Scene XXI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Two hours and six empty Red Bulls later, Chuck came out of the interrogation room carrying the bag of empty cans and a sheaf of papers, notes made all over them. He left behind a much more alert and happy Jeremy Cushman, who looked like a new man. After the door shut behind Chuck, he started shaking.

"Man, how do people do that?" he asked, looking at a suddenly smirking Casey.

"What, interrogate people?"

"No, down Red Bulls like they were water. My heart feels like it's going to fly out of my chest." He walked over to the table, dropping his notes into an open space. "Thank God he cracked after the first one; I only had to drink two of them."

"So, what've we got?" Casey asked.

Chuck looked surprised. "You weren't listening?"

"Please. My eyes glazed over after the first five minutes."

"OK, from what I can tell, the code is just a fairly sophisticated tool for trying to crack a server's security. The coding looks top-notch; it's well-designed, and probably is something he spent the better part of the last year putting together."

"So, there's nothing suspicious there?"

"Well, there is one thing. The latest modifications that Jeremy made were designed to try to install a program if they successfully broke into the server."

"And what was the program supposed to do?"

"That's the thing: there is no program in the code or on the computer. There's a place to set a path to the program installer, but that was to be provided by the client."

"He told you that?"

"I made a pretty good guess; the path pointed to what had to be an external drive. Once I figured out how that part of the code worked, he didn't see a problem telling me that the client was going to provide the program. Our missing suspect had the executable on a jump drive in his pocket."

Casey stared blankly at Chuck. Chuck clarified, "A jump drive? A thumb drive?" Casey's face was still blank.

"A small portable hard drive that plugs into a USB port? You sell them at Buy More?"

"Right, right."

Chuck looked back down at his notes. "Remind me to have Morgan give you some more training over in computer accessories."

Casey emitted a stony glare at Chuck. "Remind me to show you how we use thumb screws to interrogate suspects."

Chuck looked up with a suddenly nervous expression. Casey shrugged. "Hey, you threaten me, I threaten you."

Without commenting or dropping his eyes, Chuck continued, "Who knows what the program was designed to do. It could just be some type of verification that the server was compromised, but it could be something more, too."

"Like what?"

"Theoretically, the application could install a back door into the machine. That would provide a way for a hacker to sneak in whenever they wanted."

Casey whistled.

Chuck cautioned, "That's just speculation. For all I know, they could just be installing a graphics program that thumbs its nose at the systems administrator for leaving the system vulnerable. But if the code was set up to attack a CIA server…"

"What do you mean 'if'?"

"The IP address is just a single parameter in the code. Anyone who knew anything about the code could simply change the target and run it themselves. Jeremy wouldn't say which IP addresses he used or whether anyone else had access to the code; he was afraid of violating the nondisclosure agreements with their clients."

"Do you know the most recent targets?"

"On Jeremy's machine, the log files indicate a single IP address as the target. I can probably verify the owner of the site using WHOIS."

Casey gave him another blank stare; Chuck filled in the blanks. "An online utility that tells you who owns an IP address. Does that computer have Internet access?" he asked, pointing to the console over on the desk.

"I think so."

Chuck walked over and shifted the mouse, killing the screen saver. A login screen came up. He looked back and Casey. "A little help?"

"Sorry, Chuck, we don't know the password. IT was supposed to bring it."

"Dependable guys. I'll look it up later." Chuck walked back to the main table, scribbled the IP address onto a scrap of paper and shoved it into his back pocket.

A bit begrudgingly, Casey said, "Good work, Bartowski."

Chuck looked up with a surprised expression as he set down the pencil. "Thanks."

"Listen, I know you see Agent Walker tonight, but it's probably better that I explain how the interrogation went down.

Chuck's expression became conflicted. "But I was hoping…"

"Letting you do the interrogation was my call, so I owe her the explanation. Let me talk to her first."

That only seemed reasonable. "OK, Casey." He didn't really care who told Sarah; he just wanted her to find out.


	7. Casa Bartowski

**Scene XXII – Casa Bartowski**

Sarah found herself slowing as she walked through the courtyard towards Ellie's apartment. She had only managed about fifteen minutes of sleep, and that little bit probably had done more harm than good. It certainly had done little to drain the tension of the earlier scrap with Chuck. Now, she had to see him in her exhausted state.

It had been all Sarah could do to drag herself out of bed to get ready for the party. More than anything, Sarah just wanted to stay safely burrowed in her warm comforter and let sleep overtake her again. But with Chuck having called off their previous date, she really had no choice. The last thing they needed to do after all the repair work they did on their cover over the holidays was to throw it away because she was tired.

Besides, Sarah had conducted plenty of missions on little sleep. Of course, she hadn't lashed out at a partner hours before those missions, either.

Stopping by the fountain, her mind wandered for a minute, remembering some of the post-mission conversations she had with Chuck in this area. She smiled, remembering Chuck's comment about being "forced" to kiss her good night, and how often they would let go of each other's hand as they left the apartment, occasionally with a touch that lingered just long enough to set her heart racing.

It took her a moment to recognize that her thoughts were drifting. She cursed under her breath. Damn fatigue was affecting her focus.

Sarah took a couple deep breaths of the cool evening air to try to force herself to wake up. She cobbled together a game plan: she would make her appearance, spend as much time talking with people other than Chuck as she could, and make an early exit. She could make that work; hopefully Chuck could, too.

A couple more deep breaths, and she decided she was ready. She rang the doorbell.

_Please don't be Chuck. Please don't be Chuck. Please don't be Chuck_.

Chuck answered the door, the smell of cheesy enchiladas and the sound of cheesy Mexican music wafting out of the apartment. All of that barely registered.

Sarah thought she had prepared herself for the sight of him, but she was wrong. Consciously or not, Chuck had chosen to wear his light green striped button-down with the brown undershirt, the same outfit he wore on their first "date" months ago. Suddenly, she was swept back to that night.

They had gone out for Tex-mex that night as well, and had one of the few truly "normal" conversations Sarah engaged in during her time at the CIA. Her mission that night was to make Chuck believe that she was just a normal woman, enough to gain his trust and possibly get him to share anything he knew about the Bryce Larkin email. The funny thing was that Chuck really did make her feel like a normal woman, and she found she liked that feeling more than she ever thought she could.

She couldn't believe he had brought the Nerd Herd car to pick her up. What kind of woman would possibly be impressed by that? A normal date would have been over before it started.

_Damn it_. Her mind was wandering again. As she regained her focus, she noticed he was staring back at her from the open doorway, uncertain what to say. That made two of them.

Sensing the awkwardness wasn't going to evaporate, Chuck slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes looked sad, which only made her feel worse. Before she could speak, Chuck said, "Listen … about earlier. It only makes sense that I would deal with the computers as part of the mission. That doesn't bother me." After he brief pause, he added, "But I've spent the past couple of hours trying to get past what you said at the end. And I can't."

His face was so serious. So hurt.

"I have to know," he said. "Did you mean what you said?"

It took every last bit of her experience as an agent to keep from breaking down on the spot. It took just as much to resist the urge to use any of that experience to maneuver the conversation in her favor. That's what an agent should do, especially with an asset.

Sarah instinctively knew that she had a couple of options to manipulate Chuck, using either his feelings for her or his general kindness towards others to turn the tables. The agent inside her screamed for her to pick an option and go with it, but she resisted.

No, she was going to make things right on Chuck's terms. She owed him that.

She answered his question while shaking her head, "No, Chuck, I didn't mean it how it came out. Not at all."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Chuck, there are any number of times when any agent needs to exercise good judgment about whether or not to become involved in a situation. They need to weigh the risk versus the reward. The head often has to overrule the heart."

"What you did the other night was very brave, but very foolish. You risked the Intersect to try to capture a computer programmer. That wasn't a good risk to take."

Chuck was about to interrupt her, but Sarah cut him off. "Please, Chuck, let me finish." He acquiesced.

She didn't have much left, and she had to say what needed to be said quickly, or it wouldn't get said at all. Taking a deep breath to regroup, Sarah stood up straight, shoulders back, and looked Chuck dead in the eyes. "While I stand behind what I said, the way I said it was entirely unprofessional. My remark was the product of long hours and little sleep, and shouldn't be viewed as an accurate reflection of my opinion of your overall performance." Inside, she cringed a bit: she hadn't meant for the apology to turn out so stiff, but she had defaulted to her professional mode.

After a brief pause, she added, "I'm sorry, Chuck." She knew it sounded forced. Why was it so difficult for her to say those words?

Chuck's face was still a little sad, but now it also held a slightly amused smile. "Wow. A formal apology, Agent Walker?"

At his smile and his comment, she felt a little hope. In an emotional voice, she replied, "It's the only kind I really know how to give."

Chuck didn't say anything for an agonizingly long time. Finally, he said, "Well, thank you. Formal or not, that means a lot to me."

Relief began to flow through her. There were issues that needed resolving; just not tonight. "Chuck, there are still a few things that we need to sort through. I know I'm probably asking a lot, but can they wait until tomorrow?" _Please, Chuck, let it go until tomorrow. I just don't have it in me right now._

Chuck's face was kind, and a little concerned. He looked into her eyes carefully, as if trying to diagnose something. "Sure."

Sarah mostly fought back the urge to let out a giddy little laugh. She gathered herself before looking back at Chuck. "Thank you."

"You look really tired. Are you sure you want to come in? I can make up an excuse for you."

Sarah forced a smile. "Yes, Chuck. We need this for our cover."

"If you say so; you're the one giving the orders around here."

The way he said it made it clear he was teasing her a little about their fight; she let out a small laugh. It felt good.

Chuck asked, "Are you ready to go in?"

The words struck fear into her. "Chuck, wait." He had started moving towards the door, but slowed at her command. "I need a minute. For some reason, I'm a little scared to go in there right now."

"Scared? Really?"

"Scared isn't the right word." Actually, it was closer than she cared to admit. These were such good people. How could she explain that she sometimes felt like a fraud by sharing in their lives?

In her current state, she couldn't find the right words. She tried to play it off. "Maybe I'm just tired."

Chuck stepped over to her. He looked at her appraisingly for a moment before responding, "Tell you what: you spend your days protecting me in your world, so tonight I'll protect you in mine. OK?"

The reassuring look Chuck offered made her smile. She reached out and took his hand, for support as much as for their cover, and simply replied, "OK."

She took a deep breath as Chuck opened the door. He let go of her hand as he reached back to her, placing the hand in her lower back to guide her into the apartment. He said, "Besides, I think you'll find that you have little reason to be scared here." She forced a bigger smile onto her face as she walked into the apartment, the smells and sounds washing over her.

"Sarah!" Ellie, Devon, Morgan, Anna and others that she knew from the holiday parties cried out their greetings in turn, genuinely happy to see her. Her smile suddenly took care of itself. Ellie, standing in the kitchen, quickly wiped her hands on a green-striped towel and rushed over to give her a strong embrace, whispering how glad she was to see her. Sarah returned the hug and the sentiment.

Chuck had barely finished guiding her to a seat at the counter when Devon placed a bright red frozen margarita in front of her, folding umbrella decorating a traditional wide-mouthed glass with a dark blue rim. He wore a ridiculously huge black sombrero with cheap beadwork in a riot of colors, the long string designed to hold the hat on dangling down to his chest. Despite herself, Sarah burst into laughter at the sombrero, as well as the huge grin under the sombrero. Far from taking offense, Devon accepted it in stride, managing to mangle several Spanish words into his response. Sarah laughed even harder.

Feeling relaxed for the first time in days, Sarah sipped her drink as she spoke with people about nothing important. She hadn't gotten to talk to many people on New Year's Eve, so she was enjoying spending time to catch up with everyone. Turned around on her stool as she conversed, she didn't even notice as Devon topped off everyone's drinks.

Ellie pulled enchiladas, tortillas and taco meat out of the oven. With everyone pitching in, the counter was transformed into an informal buffet, complete with homemade guacamole, salsa and tortilla chips. People took turns filling up their plates and heading over to the table, which Ellie had decorated with bright placemats and brightly colored folding paper fans as favors.

As tired as she was, Sarah wasn't particularly hungry; she put a polite amount of food on her plate and headed to the table to take a seat next to Chuck. Morgan was animatedly describing reviews he had read for "Cloverfield", with Anna and Chuck occasionally pitching in their two cents. Anna was apparently concerned about Morgan getting seasick for some reason.

Sarah knew nothing about the movie, or any others that were out there, for that matter. She was content to sit their silently and watch the three of them talk about what was in the theaters, occasionally chipping in a question or a comment, or joining in the laughter. And there was a lot of laughter.

Her conversations wound through a variety of topics. She caught up on how things were going at the hospital, and Devon and Ellie held an informal debate about whether to take a ski vacation or a beach vacation later in the year. Chuck talked a little about Jeff and Lester and their attempt at "revenge"; she hadn't gotten the opportunity to hear the whole story from the beginning.

She did notice Morgan seemed to flinch when Jeff and Lester's names came up, and caught him shooting a guilty look at Anna. She made a mental note to mention it to Chuck; he would want to know about that.

As everyone finished their dinners, a warm feeling engulfed her and a seemingly permanent smile etched itself on her face. She couldn't remember feeling so comfortable in a long time. She found herself staring off into space with greater frequency, occasionally taking another drink or nodding at a comment in the conversation around her.

Devon came over just as Sarah drained the last of her margarita from her glass. He leaned over her chair, providing another refill without asking, and she burst out laughing again. Reaching up, she stole the sombrero and placed it on her own head, much to the delight of Ellie and some of the others. Devon topped off her glass as she modeled the hat for the others at the table.

She particularly enjoyed Chuck's disbelieving smile as it dissolved into an affectionate one, and locked eyes with him for a moment. Then Chuck's smile became mischievous. "You know, Sarah, you picked a bad time to grab the sombrero."

Uh oh. Sarah didn't like the look on Chuck's face. Slowly, she asked, "Why's that?"

"Well, it's a well-known Casa Bartowksi tradition that the person wearing the sombrero at the end of the meal is the first to do a celebratory dance. Now, normally Devon takes that particular bullet before passing the hat to somebody else…"

Sarah still didn't get it. "So, what, I'm supposed to get up and dance to…" She suddenly realized she had no idea what CD was playing; the cheesy Mexican music had vanished half an hour ago. "…whatever this is?" she finished lamely.

Chuck's smile grew downright evil. "Nope, we hit random on the CD player, and you dance to whatever song comes on."

Sarah looked around the table. "He's kidding, right?" Morgan shook his head with a serious expression. Anna shrugged; she clearly had no idea. Feeling a bit desperate, she looked over at Ellie, possibly the one person in the room Sarah could count on being honest. One look at Ellie's sympathetic face told her Chuck wasn't making this up.

Sarah stiffened her resolve. Picking up her glass, she took a long drink. As she set the glass down, she looked several people in the eye. With a small grin, she quietly said, "OK. Let's do this."

The table let out an approving roar; Sarah felt her heart race. It was silly for her to get excited by this, wasn't it?

Chuck gave her a hand up, and escorted her across the room with exaggerated aplomb. She held onto his hand a bit tightly, mainly because her balance failed her a bit as she stood up. But she didn't kid herself: she was in no hurry to let go, either.

He guided her to the open area over by the front door, which vaguely resembled a stage. The other partiers, drinks in hand, filed over in the sitting area to watch.

Reluctantly, Sarah let go of his hand, feeling a bit self-conscious as Chuck left her alone to fiddle with the stereo controls. Overly dramatically, Chuck stopped the music and declared, "Let the completely random music selection begin!" The crowd let out a mock cheer. In the back of her mind, something about the way he said that didn't sound right, but she was having trouble thinking straight.

Chuck knelt down, shielding the stereo controls from her. Suddenly, the stereo burst into life, with…

Chuck shouted, "Oh, no, it's the 'Mexican Hat Dance'!" Sure enough, the sound of Mexican-style horn-playing filled the room. Sarah looked around the room in shock. Did they really expect her to dance to this?

Morgan started chanting, "Hat. Dance. Hat. Dance," punctuating each word with a clap of the hands. Chuck immediately joined in, quickly followed by Devon. Ellie just covered her eyes with a hand, and then shot Sarah another sympathetic look.

Somehow, the smile helped. Sarah steeled herself, raising the hat high above her head with both hands before dropping it onto the floor, eliciting a cheer from the spectators. Her smile and her confidence grew.

Still not quite sure what to do, she started dancing in a circle around the hat. She felt like she was doing a bad imitation of 'Riverdance' given the way she tapped her feet and didn't really move her arms. However, she felt a bit unsteady as she moved, and was afraid doing anything with her arms would make her lose her balance.

Around and around the hat she went, the room a blur, the crowd clapping to the music. She risked lifting her hands above her head to snap her fingers a time or two.

Luckily, the 'Mexican Hat Dance' was a short song. Within a couple of minutes, the song came to an end. On the last note, she posed, one leg in front of the other, arms straightened into a "V" overhead with hands facing the ceiling.

The crowd went wild.

Sarah, breathing a little hard, exulted at the applause. She looked over at Chuck, who was walking towards her, applauding and shaking his head in an I-can't-believe-what-I-just-saw kind of way. She winked at him, and pivoted slightly to take a deep bow for her adoring fans.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be a bad idea. The lack of sleep, Awesome's margaritas and the light dinner finally caught up to her, and she stumbled as she rose up from the bow. Luckily, Chuck was there to catch her. She instinctively threw her arms around his neck as she felt herself falling.

"Whoa!" she heard Chuck exclaim as he caught her, his arms supporting her by her back. The room was a little fuzzy and more than a little unsteady. Chuck helped her back to her feet. He gave a small laugh as he inspected her. "Looks like Awesome's margaritas have claimed another victim."

Sarah wanted to try to play it off, but she seemed to have a little trouble speaking. Chuck took one of her arms across his shoulders and whispered, "Shhh…" She felt his warm breath on her ear; part of her calmed down, part of her didn't. She did choose to stay quiet.

Devon came over and said, "Well, that last batch was particularly…" Sarah so badly wanted to beat Devon to the 'awesome', but didn't trust herself to speak. She did let out a small laugh.

Devon, defying expectations, continued his sentence with, "…potent. Sorry about that, Sarah."

Chuck spoke for her. "No worries, man. She's fine, but I'm going to help get her settled. Good night, guys." He started guiding her back towards his room.

The remaining crowd echoed their goodbyes in friendly, if slightly concerned, tones. In the back of her mind, Sarah wondered what they were thinking. But mostly she was caught up with the idea of being alone with Chuck.


	8. Alone at Last

**Scene XXIII – Chuck's Room**

Leaning heavily on Chuck, Sarah managed to control her stumbling well enough to help guide her body into Chuck's room. She let out a giggle as Chuck guided her to the bed, helping her sit on the edge of the mattress. He stayed near her for a moment, making sure she had her balance. "Wait here," he ordered.

He turned around and shut the door to his room. When he turned back around, Sarah was standing right in front of him. She put her hands around the back of his neck before he could move.

Chuck nearly stopped breathing. Her lips were so close to his. All he needed to do was lean down…

One of Sarah's hands ran up the back of Chuck's neck into his hair, her fingers intertwining in his hair. His eyes closed involuntarily at the touch; he forced them back open. That didn't really help matters, because now he was staring directly into her eyes. She tilted her head slightly to one side as she stared back.

Chuck had to put a stop to this, and now. As tempted as he was, he refused to take advantage of a drunk Sarah. Putting his hands on her waist, intending to keep her body from coming any closer to his, he said, "Sarah…"

With a coquettish expression, Sarah brushed back a stray clump of bangs from his forehead, interrupting him. She asked, "What's the matter, Chuck? You promised to protect me tonight. And I am in dire need of some protection…"

With that, Sarah leaned over and gently kissed Chuck just under his jawbone where it curved upwards towards his right ear. Her lips trailed slowly down his neck, a hand cupping the opposite cheek to keep him from escaping.

Involuntarily, his eyes closed again. His will to stop her was quickly dissolving.

She continued speaking quietly in between planting kisses down the line of his neck. "In fact … I may need you … to 'protect' me … two or three times…"

Despite himself, Chuck shivered. He was beyond thought at this point; her kissing had turned into nibbling, delivering tingling sensations that shot through his neck down into his chest. His breathing became ragged; his fingers tightened against the shirt fabric about her waist.

When her lips reached the base of his neck, she pulled back, running her fingers of one hand through his hair, the other wrapped around the back of his neck. She looked over him appraisingly, her eyes exploring his mouth, his eyes, his hair.

She suddenly burst into hysterical laughter, almost snorting. "Ellie was right," she forced out between laughs. "Your hair does make funny little animal shapes when it gets long!"

Sarah laughed so hard she started losing her balance again. She let out a surprised cry, and grabbed onto Chuck to try to keep her balance. She only succeeded in pulling Chuck down with her onto the bed; Chuck landed on top of her with his hands to her sides as he tried to break his fall. She was all wonderful softness and warmth beneath him.

Sarah didn't seem too bothered by the turn of events. Her hands and arms wrapped around his back, and in a slightly goofy voice, she said, "Why, hello there, Chuck." She laughed again before her expression turned serious again. "Let me see if I can burn a few more images into that brain of yours." She leaned up to kiss him.

Chuck pulled back, forcing himself up with his arms. It may have taken the most willpower of anything he had ever done, but he managed to escape to his feet.

Sarah pushed herself up onto her elbows, pouting, "Where are you going?" She tried to sit the rest of the way up but failed, falling over towards the pillow. She laughed again, her giggles dissolving into a contented sigh.

Chuck chose not to speak too much; he just didn't trust himself. "Let's get you under the covers." He leaned down to help her.

"Wait! I need to get a little more comfortable first." Managing to sit up, she started undoing the buttons of her top.

For the life of him, Chuck had no idea what to do to stop her. He rather lamely said, "I'm not sure you should…" He stopped as it became clear she wasn't listening, watching helplessly ... and, he would be forced to admit, somewhat hopefully.

Sarah reached into the gap between the open buttons, and undid a clasp. Reaching under her top, she pulled out a small sheath containing three knives that had been concealed between her shoulder blades. She dropped them onto the floor. With a sigh, she laid back down on the bed. "That's better."

Chuck gave a little laugh. This was something that Chuck never envisioned: feeling relief that the beautiful woman in his bed wasn't disrobing, but rather was simply removing part of her deadly arsenal of weapons from beneath her clothes.

Sarah was able to lever her body up enough that Chuck was able to slide the covers out from underneath her, allowing her to lie on the fitted sheet over the mattress. He pulled the covers up to her chin; she gave him a look that was equal parts pleased and flirtatious. She asked, "Are you coming to bed?" She patted the mattress to her side suggestively.

Chuck had thought he was home free, but apparently Sarah had other ideas. In a voice that cracked slightly, he said, "In a minute. I need to, you know, brush my teeth, wash my face." He gave a nervous laugh. "Gotta floss. Can't forget to floss."

Sarah gazed at him demurely. "Well, hurry up. These sheets are cold."

With a last tormented look, Chuck fled, slipping into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, looking at the door as if afraid that Sarah might pursue him. Of course, if she did, she would probably just pick the lock, drunk or not. He tried hard to keep fantasies about that kind of moment from entering his head.

Chuck walked over to the mirror, steadying himself on the sink as he stared at his reflection. Back in the bedroom, Sarah was waiting for him, wanting him. It was everything that he dreamed about.

No, not everything, he reminded himself. He had no idea whether it was just the tequila talking, or something more. His feelings for her ran deeper than some drunken hook-up, and even if they didn't, he wasn't the type to take advantage of a woman like that.

Of course, in a spy's world, he could see the temptation to seize the moment and damn the consequences. Nobody knew what tomorrow would bring, so why not take what the night offered? It's what Bond would do. It's what Bryce would do.

It wasn't, however, what Chuck would do. And, as much as it hurt to follow that path, he knew that it was the right one for him.

There were no two ways about it: this sucked.

He splashed some water on his face and gave his teeth a quick brush. Despite what he said about flossing, he skipped it. He needed to get back into the bedroom to make sure things didn't get totally out of control.

He grabbed a tall glass from the back of the sink and filled it with water from the tap, and then shook out a handful of aspirin from a jar in the medicine cabinet. As an afterthought, he grabbed the trash can. He wasn't really sure just how bad off Sarah was, but there was no point in taking chances.

Arms loaded, he slipped back into the bedroom, and moved over to Sarah's nightstand. As he crossed the floor, he noticed the carpet was cluttered with a couple things that hadn't been there before. Another set of knives. Her top. Her pants. Her bra.

Horrified and hopeful, he slowly turned his head to look at Sarah, expecting the worst. Or the best.

The comforter had been pulled down, with the sheet wrapped around her body, highlighting every curve. The top of the sheet was wrapped around her bosom, leaving her upper chest, shoulders and arms exposed. She lay on her side, facing the door, as if waiting for him.

She was asleep, her face holding a beautiful, peaceful expression. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief.

He put the glass of water and the aspirin on her nightstand, and set the trash can down next to the bed. He needed to get her to take some aspirin and drink some water, but her current state made that a challenge. His impulse was to go get Ellie, but that clearly wouldn't work for a couple of reasons.

He walked over to the dresser and pulled out an old Stanford sweat shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He gently woke her; she protested sleepily, but he managed to get her to sit up, facing away from him. Trying not to get distracted by the soft, smooth skin on her naked back, he slipped the sweatshirt on. He quickly gave up on the shorts, setting them on the floor, and instead focused on getting four aspirin and a healthy drink of water into her. She lay back down with a pleased little noise. Chuck covered her back up.

He spent a few moments tidying up her things, placing them in a pile over by her computer, the knives buried beneath her top in case Ellie or somebody else walked in. Sneaking an occasional peek at her to make sure she didn't wake up while he was changing, he put on his blue pajama bottoms and a plain black T-shirt.

He lay down on his side of the bed; she lay facing him, her face relaxed, traces of a smile coloring her lips. A few stray bangs had floated across her eyes, he gently pushed them aside with the tips of his fingers. She stirred slightly, unconsciously nuzzling against his touch. He couldn't resist running his fingers through her hair a second time, and then a third. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand.

He lay there for a long time, staring at her as she slept. Finally, he whispered, "Good night, Sarah." He turned out the light.

**Scene XXIV – Chuck's Bedroom**

Chuck found himself unable to sleep. While having Sarah lying next to him didn't help, the real problem was the after-effects of the two Red Bulls. He had been laying there, awake, for hours, his heart feeling like it was going to pound right out of his chest. At least he had been able keep an eye on Sarah and enjoy having her near, even if it meant nothing.

The clock read 2:06. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Realizing he wasn't going to sleep any time soon, he gently eased out of bed to avoid disturbing Sarah. Given her current state, it seemed unlikely that a marching band would disturb Sarah.

This was a good thing, because he let out a not-so-soft curse as his bare foot stepped on his belt buckle; he had forgotten to clean up his own clothes when he came to bed. Still, Sarah didn't move. Reaching down, he picked up the belt and the still-attached pants and went to put them in the closet.

Suddenly, he remembered the piece of paper in the back pocket. In the rush to get back in time for the dinner, he had forgotten all about it.

Retrieving the piece of paper, he stepped gingerly over to the computer, his foot obviously still sore. He lowered himself into the chair and brought up the WHOIS site. He entered the IP address: . After entering the human-readable security code, he looked up details of the site.

The site belonged to Brewster Jennings and Associates, located in Boston. Seemed innocent enough. He scrolled down the rest of the information sheet. When he read the NetHandle, his eyelids grew heavy, and he had a monster flash.

A picture of a skyscraper.

A window in the skyscraper.

A memo on a piece of stationery with a Brewster Jennings and Associates logo. The memo was entitled "Network Schematics".

A memo on a piece of stationery with the CIA logo, entitled "Quarterly Network Updates".

A window in the skyscraper.

Another window in the skyscraper.

Schematic after schematic of the network configuration.

The window again.

Another window in the skyscraper.

Page after page after page describing the specific functions of each of the computers on the network.

A window in the skyscraper.

A picture of a skyscraper.

Chuck shook out of his flash, putting his hands on the desk to steady himself, head hung as he tried to regain his bearings. There was a dull ache in both temples from the duration of that flash; it took a minute for his head to clear.

Slowly, he lifted up his head, his face pale. That was no garden variety flash: he now knew the configuration of the core CIA computer network.

He also knew the exact purpose for the server that was under attack, and it meant that everything had suddenly become deadly serious.

Behind him, Sarah stirred. She made a retching noise.

Chuck leapt up from his computer chair. "Trash can! Trash can!"

**Scene XXV – Chuck's Bedroom**

Sarah slowly woke up, her mouth dry and pasty. As she always did, the first thing she did was regain her bearings. Chuck's room. Chuck lay facing her on his pillow. Without really thinking about it, she reached across and brushed some stray bangs from his face. He stirred slightly; she smiled.

Wait, why did she spend the night in Chuck's room? She was just supposed to hang out for a little while, and then head home.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember. What was in those margaritas? Instinctively, she wondered if she had been drugged. She quickly brushed the thought away; of course she hadn't.

Checking under the covers, she found she was wearing one of Chuck's old Stanford sweatshirts and a pair of gym shorts, almost as if …

No. She couldn't have. They couldn't have. Could they?

She checked. No bra. This wasn't good.

She slipped out of bed as gently as she could; she needed to get her head around what happened before he woke up. As she stood, she put a hand to her head. She had a significant headache, and standing up only increased the throbbing in her temples. Looking around, she saw a full glass of water and some aspirin on the nightstand. She took five, forcing herself to drink the entire glass of water. Her stomach protested a little.

What happened last night? Her last memory involved a sombrero and a margarita. _Think, Walker, think._

Unable to drum up anything useful, she decided to approach her later memories by retracing her steps through the evening. There was the conversation with Chuck in the courtyard; she remembered that clearly. Walking into the apartment, being greeted by all of Chuck's family and friends … she remembered that clearly. Devon, the sombrero and a margarita. Clearing off the counter and carrying the enchiladas from the oven. Various conversations, although those were a little fuzzier. Devon leaning over; her grabbing the sombrero.

Wow, why had she done that? She also remembered something about how grabbing the sombrero was … a mistake? Taking a long drink from her glass and …

Nothing. She could remember nothing else.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Or was it? Had she finally had the courage to tell Chuck how she really felt? Part of her hoped she had. But a bigger part of her didn't want things to start with a drunken confession and a night of passion she couldn't remember.

Suddenly, she was scared. _Please, no. Not that way._

Her phone rang; from the ring tone, it was Casey. She found her phone still tucked into her pants pocket over on Chuck's desk. She hurried to grab it before the ringing woke Chuck.

"Walker here."

"Casey here. Get over to the CIA facility ASAP. General Beckman and Director Graham want an update at 0900."

"OK; I'm at Chuck's now, so we should be there close to then."

"I know you're at Chuck's; sounds like it was quite a night."

"What's that?" The color drained from her face.

"I caught up on the highlights. Quite a night, Agent Walker." Click.

It was bad enough that she couldn't remember, but if Casey knew something … and they were meeting with their superiors in half an hour? She needed to find out what happened.

Sarah went over to the closet and looked for a small bag she had stashed there for just such an occasion. She had put it on the shelf, but the shelf was no longer there; the splintered board was split in two pieces, propped against the back wall of the closet. Confused but having bigger mysteries to solve, she found her bag on the floor and pulled it out. She removed a neatly folded business outfit, a plain white shirt with a black skirt, and quickly dressed.

As soon as she finished, she moved over to Chuck's side of the bed, shaking Chuck with a hand. "Chuck, wake up."

Chuck pushed the hand away. "Aw, Ellie, it's not a school day."

"Chuck, wake up!"

Realizing that wasn't Ellie, Chuck's eyes shot open.

He looked like she felt: exhausted and confused. She fought back the urge to sit down on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair until he regained his senses.

"Chuck, we have to get going. We're supposed to report in on our progress in twenty-five minutes."

"What?" He processed what she was saying. "Why can't Casey just go ahead and brief them. He knows everything."

That struck a bit close to home, given her conversation with Casey. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Chuck looked confused. "He's briefed hundreds of times. He'll be fine. Meanwhile, I'll just grab a few more minutes…" He rolled back over.

"Chuck!!"

"Fine, fine," Chuck said grumpily. He forced himself upright, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a moment to try to gather his wits.

With a slightly confused look, Sarah sat on the chair in the corner of the room, nervously playing with the fingers on one hand with the fingers of the other. She had to find out what happened, and she didn't have much time. "Chuck, I need to ask you something."

"What's that?" he asked as he got to his feet. He started to cross the room.

"What happened last night?"

Chuck was too tired to be very surprised, or even to turn to look at her. He collected some clothes from his dresser. "What, you don't remember?"

"No, I don't," she said quietly. "What happened?"

"You wore me out, that's what happened."

Sarah's face betrayed more emotion than her voice. "What?"

"You got up to throw up twice last night. I got up with you both times. You're officially cut off from Awesome's margaritas for a bit."

"Oh," she said. Conflicting emotions flickered across her face, going from relief to disappointment back to relief.

Chuck didn't notice any of that as he trudged over to the closet, clothes in hand and head down. He let out a huge yawn before pulling the door open.

Looking a bit unsure of herself, she offered, "That's funny; I can't really tell I threw up."

"I helped you brush your teeth both times."

Sarah was having trouble piecing everything together. Noticing the silence, Chuck finally looked up as he grabbed a standard white Buy More shirt out of the closet. He guessed the source of her confusion. Looking back to the closet, he explained, "You used my toothbrush. Feel free to keep it."

Sarah wasn't quite sure how to react to all of that.

Chuck said, "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around. I'm going to change. I don't peek when you change."

"Oh," Sarah said. She stood up and turned face the corner. She continued to nervously play with her fingers. Processing everything Chuck told her, a small smile came to her face. Chuck had promised to protect her, and he had. Still, she had to be sure.

"So, nothing happened?"

"Aside from your dancing and your digestive pyrotechnics? Nothing happened."

Sarah's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What dancing?"


	9. Superiors and Subordinates

**Scene XXVI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Chuck and Sarah entered the main interrogation room. During their absence, somebody had wheeled a portable briefing station into the room: a monitor, a camera, and the hardware case that plugged into a cable outlet in the wall. Chuck idly wondered why he hadn't flashed on any of the conferencing equipment; he certainly seemed to flash on every other piece of hardware that the Department of Defense had.

Casey was talking quietly with General Beckman and Director Graham. Chuck noticed both of the directors looked a little less displeased than usual as the pair took positions alongside Casey.

Sarah greeted the officials, "General. Director. Sorry we're late."

General Beckman replied, "Agent Walker. Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck bristled a little bit at the juxtaposition; it served to remind him that he was still nothing but an asset in the eyes of the Department of Defense. However, he didn't have the energy to make a joke about it.

Director Graham said, "Agent Casey was just briefing us on some of yesterday's breakthroughs."

Sarah turned towards Casey, an enthusiastic expression on her face. "Really? What did you learn?"

Casey pointed, not-so-subtly, at Chuck. Sarah managed to hide most, but not all, of her surprise.

Director Graham said, "Mr. Bartowski, Agent Casey has told us some of what you learned, but we would like to hear it from you."

Chuck took a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he was able to claim some recognition for a job well done, but he was too tired to properly appreciate it. _Figures._

He managed to organize his thoughts. "I was able to crack into Jeremy Cushman's computer yesterday using some CIA software. On this computer was the program that Cushman, or somebody else, apparently used to attack the CIA server."

"How can you be sure?"

"I was able to print out the code and show it to Cushman, who helped to verify how the code functions."

The general said, "I have to confess, Mr. Bartowski, I am curious: how is it that Cushman would talk to you, but not the other agents?"

Casey stepped in, "Sir, Chuck was able to get Cushman to talk by obtaining and offering a substance that the suspect was craving."

"I don't think I like the sound of that. What exactly did you give him?"

Shooting an irritated look at Casey, Chuck said, "I picked up several Red Bull drinks from the cafeteria. Cushman had a box full of empty Red Bull cans in his office; given his symptoms, the source of his withdrawal seemed fairly obvious. Exchanging something from a soda machine for some information seems pretty reasonable to me."

The general was appeased. Casey was not, especially when the general said, "It certainly is. You might remember that, Agents Casey and Walker."

Chuck stole a peek at Sarah, hoping for a little validation. She fixed her eyes on the screen, her posture rigid.

The general continued, "Good work, Intersect. Anything else?"

"Yes, General. The program was designed to install some type of program on a compromised server. That program, however, was on a thumb drive carried by the suspect who escaped the other night."

The general's face went blank. Mistaking her look for confusion, Chuck started to explain, "A thumb drive is…"

The general cut him off. "I know what a thumb drive is, Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck muttered to Casey, "Maybe she could pick up your next shift at the Buy More."

Casey growled in response.

The general continued, "However, that means that the third suspect is the key to all of this."

The director said, "Given the importance of the server that was attacked, this mission is of the highest priority."

Sarah finally had an opportunity to contribute. "Director, that's one thing that has been bothering me. What server was attacked?"

The Director looked at Casey and the general. "It's a highly classified, mission-critical CIA server. That's all I can say at this time."

Chuck knew what the server was from his flash the previous night. But the more he had thought about the flash, the more afraid he was to share what he had learned. He knew the architecture of their entire core computer network, as well as the purpose of each machine.

If the DOD couldn't find a way to get these secrets out of his head, this was a whole new level of secret. Sure, an enemy could extract files on particular agents or missions if they knew the right triggers. But agent files weren't as useful without the pictures, which only Chuck could see, so there was no way to extract them. Mission files would quickly grow stale; they were basically historical documentation.

However, the network infrastructure would likely stay in place for some time, and the purposes of some of the machines were downright frightening. What enemy agents could do if they could access that network...

Chuck swallowed hard. This was the type of secret that could get him killed.

Against everything he stood for, he stood there silently, trying to keep a straight face. Feeling his face slip, he covered it up by asking a question.

"Director?"

"Yes?"

"I did find an IP address of the last server that was attacked by the program. If I give you the address, can you at least verify that this was the CIA server that was attacked? If it isn't, we know Cushman didn't run the code."

The director's face turned deadly serious as he thought for a moment. "Yes, but not via the teleconference. Use Agent Walker's phone. Is there a private place you can communicate from?"

Chuck looked around. "How about an unused interrogation room?"

The director nodded. "That will work." The director wandered off the screen.

Sarah had already dialed the director on her phone; she handed the phone to Chuck with an absolutely blank expression.

Chuck slipped into the middle interrogation room as the phone rang. The director picked up just as Chuck shut the door behind him. Chuck quickly gave him the IP address. There was a pause at the other end, and the director said, "Yes, that's the server. Now forget you ever knew those numbers." Click.

The way the director spoke told Chuck in no uncertain terms that he was right not to reveal his flash. The director was uncomfortable with Chuck even knowing the IP address of the one server. How would he feel if he found out what Chuck really knew?

He walked out of the interrogation room with a pale face, handing the phone back to Sarah with a nod. He turned to nod to Casey as well.

The director re-appeared on the screen and whispered in the general's ear for a moment. The three waited for Graham to finish whatever he was saying. When the director finished, he pulled back, and the general nodded her agreement.

Director Graham said, "You have verified that Cushman's program was designed to break into a key CIA server. This is a federal crime, and given the evidence, we approve keeping the suspects incarcerated at the facility for an additional 48 hours."

The general said, "During that time, you must find a way to track down the third suspect, whether by convincing one of the suspects to give you information or by other means. Try to verify how they knew the IP address. If they cooperate, you may strike an appropriate deal. If they do not, make sure they understand the consequences." The pair signed off.

The moment the screen went blank, Sarah turned to Chuck, her eyes blazing. "Why the hell were you interrogating suspects?"

**Scene XXVII – Office**

Across town, another teleconference was going on. This one involved only a phone conversation over a secured line; neither participant wanted to know the identity of the other. Sure, there were moments of curiosity, but people had a way of dying once identities came into the open.

The third suspect that Team Chuck wanted so badly spoke into the speaker, a box hard-wired onto the phone line distorting his voice on the other end. "Cushman and Davis are still in custody at the CIA interrogation facility. They haven't moved off the third floor since we took up surveillance.

A similarly distorted voice responded, "I guess they are having trouble getting information out of the two. That's good."

The man ran his hand across his slicked-back hair nervously. "Won't they crack eventually?"

"So what. The important thing is that we get the rest of Cushman's code; we need access to that server. Any progress?"

"No. I've only got an old version of the code, and it's likely the version that triggered the internal alarms that caused the agents to storm their offices the other night."

"And your team can't finish it?"

"Please; Cushman is a genius. We need the new code he wrote."

"Or Cushman."

"Correct. Or Cushman."

"Keep up surveillance on the facility. If Cushman leaves for any reason, grab him. Otherwise, we may need to mount an operation to infiltrate the facility and seize the computer."

**Scene XXVIII – CIA Facility, Interrogation Room #2**

Sarah pushed Chuck into the interrogation room and slammed the door shut. Her face livid, she laid into Chuck again. "I thought I made it very clear that you were to work on the computers."

"You did, but…"

"Chuck, you even said last night that it only made sense. What was that, a line you were feeding me?"

"I was upset after you left yesterday. Casey asked why. I explained, and then he asked what my idea was. He thought it was a good one."

Chuck could almost hear Casey's grunt. Apparently, so could Sarah. She looked at the mirror, and then up at the corner of the room. The red light on the camera was lit.

Reaching under her skirt, she pulled out a small knife, and with a quick turn whipped it into the camera, producing a shower of sparks as her throw buried the knife up to the haft in the lens. Chuck let out a shocked cry as he realized what she had done.

Sarah glared as if she could see through the mirror to the monitoring desk, a vicious expression on her face. She turned the same expression back on Chuck.

Chuck asked, "Seriously, what was I supposed to do? You were basically out-of-commission. I had pulled everything I could off of Cushman's computer, and I needed help understanding his code. This guy is brilliant, Sarah. I could barely understand half of what he programmed."

Sarah rubbed her temples as she paced across the room. Chuck had forgotten that she probably had a vicious hangover.

"Chuck, you've developed a nasty habit or disobeying orders lately. And that's dangerous."

"How was what I did yesterday dangerous?"

"Maybe that particular case wasn't dangerous, but we need to have the right people perform the right tasks. Have we pulled the information from Davis' computer yet? Have we examined the two other servers? We need that information for the mission, and you're the only one on our team who can do that. Casey could have done the interrogation."

"What, Mr. Bad Cop walking back in there with a six-pack of Red Bull, playing buddy-buddy and asking technical questions about code? Tell me how that would have gone."

Sarah paused, clearly stumped. Her fatigue had clearly not been helped much by the few hours of inebriated sleep the previous night. He was suddenly reminded of how tired he was.

However, her fatigue didn't make her any less angry. She strode purposefully back towards Chuck. "The larger issue here is that you aren't following my orders, and that can be very dangerous."

"What about following Casey's orders?"

Sarah didn't stop walking until she was face-to-face with Chuck. "What: can't handle a woman giving you orders?"

That was clearly unfair, and very unlike Sarah. "Where did that come from? I have no problem with a woman in a position above me ... I mean, I have no problem with a woman on top of ... That just keeps coming out wrong."

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

Chuck gathered his thoughts as best he could with Sarah standing so close to him. "I have no problem with you giving me orders. But am I supposed to follow your orders unquestioningly, or is Casey allowed to give me orders, too? And what do I do when both of you give me conflicting orders?"

"This is different, Chuck. You went behind my back and asked Casey permission to do something that I specifically told you not to do."

"OK, number one, Casey brought it up, not me. Number two, you never told me not to do it, because you never listened to my idea in the first place."

"We're a team, Chuck. The three of us are a team. But we're not a team if you don't trust my orders."

"I do trust your orders. But is that supposed to make me your lapdog?"

"My what?!"

"Lapdog. I'm not just going to hop into your lap and lick your neck every time you … you know, I'm just going to stop speaking for a minute." Sarah's proximity, the leftover tension from the previous night, and his overall fatigue made it difficult to for him to focus. He started to get fairly bitter about the whole thing.

Sarah let out a frustrated growl, and turned to walk away. She kicked a chair so that it skidded into the far wall with a metallic clang.

Chuck was relieved to have her move away; it gave him a fighting chance to think straight. "Sarah, I just don't understand what the problem is. Yesterday, I spent most of the day working on the computers. Then, I had an idea that Casey liked, and it turned out to work. Overall, it seemed like our team had a pretty good day, but here I am getting chewed out. What am I missing?" He got angrier and angrier as he spoke.

"What you're missing is that you're not following orders, Chuck. Orders are orders. They are to be followed, not questioned."

"Really? So you say 'Jump,' and I ask, 'How high?' That type of thing?"

"Exactly that type of thing."

"That would make some sense if I were an agent. But as I'm so often reminded, I clearly am not."

"What, now this is about a title?"

"A title. A job description. A wage. Anything other than the volunteer work I do in my spare time which tends to be half my normal job, half car-sitter. And, oh, by the way, dodging the occasional hailstorm of bullets while hoping I'm not putting my sister and my friends in any danger."

"We all have our roles. I'm sorry if you're unhappy with yours at the present time, but we all have to do things we don't like to do."

Sarah continued, "Do you think Casey enjoyed flirting with Davis? He wasn't happy about it, but he shut up and did what he had to do. That's called being professional."

Chuck's back straightened; he locked eyes with Sarah. "So, that's what you want me to do. To shut up. Do what I have to do. Be professional." Chuck paused for a second as he thought about what she said. "Message received, sir."

"Chuck, that's not what I meant, and you know it."

The anger resurfaced. "Isn't it? All day yesterday you told me to shut up and follow orders. Just now, you were lecturing me about following orders without questioning them. Which part am I misunderstanding?"

Sarah locked up for a moment, her face tense. Chuck just stared her down while she flashed a dozen different emotions.

Chuck had had enough. "That's what I thought. Am I dismissed?"

He stormed out of the interrogation room without waiting for an answer. Casey was over by the monitoring desk, pretending to be looking through a sheaf of papers. Chuck knew he had been watching through the window. "Enjoy the show?" he asked rhetorically.

Walking towards the door without looking back, he didn't see Casey raise an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth in affirmation.

"I'm going to the Buy More."

Sarah came out of the interrogation room. "Chuck, stop. Do not go out that door."

Turning around, Chuck asked, "Is that an order? Besides, who's going to stop me?"

Casey offered, "My guess? The CIA agents walking the halls."

Chuck glanced down at his visitor's badge; that only further proved his point with Sarah as far as he was concerned. He directed a reproachful look at her.

With a tight expression on her face, she offered, "I'll walk you out."

"No, thanks. Casey can walk me out."

Without waiting for Casey, Chuck walked out into the hallway. Casey glanced over at Sarah before following.

Sarah stared after Chuck for a moment before angrily pulling out her phone. She dialed a number as she walked back into the interrogation room. "Maintenance? Agent Walker here. I need a repair crew down in Interrogation Suite 3-Bravo. There's a camera down." She hung up the phone without waiting for a response. She went to retrieve her knife.

**Scene XXIX – Buy More**

For once, Chuck was glad to be heading back to the Buy More. Things were much less complicated there. Or so he thought.

As he walked in through the front entrance, music was blaring loudly. After a moment, he recognized the song as Amy Winehouse's "Rehab". Staring disbelievingly down the center aisle, he saw most of the store staff gathered around the Nerd Herd desk. They were cheering on Morgan, who was standing on top of the Nerd Herd desk, lip synching and dancing to the music.

Decked out in his usual green Buy More polo with khakis, Morgan was currently shaking a single leg, Elvis-style, pretending to sing into a microphone. Playing to the crowd, he straightened his left arm, swinging his arm in a long arc, his index finger pointing to members of the audience. He repeated it with the opposite hand, leg still moving.

Chuck smelled a rat. He looked for some of the key characters in the store.

He quickly spotted Anna, standing inside the desk area looking slightly embarrassed in a ridiculously short black skirt with a blue top. She tugged on Morgan's pant leg; while he couldn't tell what she said, her expression suggested that she was pleading with him to stop. Instead, Morgan redoubled his efforts, emphasizing each dance move a little more sharply and playing to the crowd. When he started making pelvis thrusts accentuated by arm movements, Anna covered her eyes with her hand.

That made no sense: Morgan brushed off Anna's request to stop? Not likely. Chuck scanned the store a bit more. Jeff and Lester stood off to the side, laughing hysterically and occasionally pointing at one of Morgan's antics. Chuck's eyes narrowed. The two were enjoying Morgan's dance a little too much, hunched over laughing.

He had to put a stop to this. Walking up the center aisle, Chuck quickly found the stereo unit that was blasting the music and turned it off. The crowd groaned in disappointment. Morgan looked relieved.

Chuck walked up to the group; some stared back guiltily, some defiantly. He was about to address the group when a familiar voice bellowed at him from across the store. "Chuck!"

Chuck turned to see Big Mike storming across the floor. "Yes, Big Mike?"

"What the hell is going on out here?"

"Well, it seems like the Buy More crew decided to have a little pre-Grammy Award lip-synching competition. Or something." His tone made it clear that didn't approve; however, Big Mike didn't seem to notice.

Not looking at any of the other employees, he glared at Chuck as he said, "We've got customers to help and orders to fill; we don't have time for this horseplay. Do not let it happen again."

_What?!_ "Big Mike, this wasn't my fault. I just got here."

Big Mike responded, "I didn't say it was your fault; I said I was blaming you. Don't let it happen again." He turned and walked back towards his office.

Jeff and Lester were beside themselves. Lester was laughing so hard that he actually had tears running down his cheeks.

Turning to the rest of the group, Chuck ordered, "Back to work."

The crowd made a collective noise that seemed noncommittal and disparaging at the same time. The group splintered, with people heading back to different parts of the store. Jeff and Lester, still fighting back a few residual chuckles, bee-lined to the home theater room, trying to beat a couple of the green shirts that obviously had the same idea they did.

Only Anna and Morgan remained, with Anna standing behind the desk and Morgan standing on top of the desk. Chuck helped Morgan down; Morgan said, "Thanks, buddy, I owe you one."

"That's OK; you already owe me several hundred, so what's one more. What was the Dance Fever routine all about?"

Morgan looked guiltily back at Anna. He nodded his head to the side, motioning for Chuck to lean over. When Chuck obliged, he whispered, "Jeff and Lester are blackmailing me."

Chuck leaned back so Morgan could see his disbelieved look. "Over what?"

Morgan directed an insistent expression at Chuck, nodding his head again to signal for him to lean back in. After Chuck complied, he whispered, "They have a prescription for a nicotine gum. It's the only thing that's helped me. Plus, they have the video game that Anna gave me for Christmas."

Chuck leaned back. He was amazed how Morgan could turn any molehill into a mountain.

Morgan practically begged, "Chuck, what do I do?"

A plan gradually came to Chuck. "Tell you what, Morgan. Ellie can probably get you something at the hospital to help with the cravings. And I'll figure out a way to deal with the rest."

"Ellie would do that?"

"Sure, Morgan, you're like family to her." He left off that Ellie probably considered Morgan to be the creepy cousin nobody liked to talk to at family reunions, as he didn't think that would really help things.

"Chuck, man, I cannot thank you enough."

Chuck felt better about things until he saw Anna's face. She looked ticked off; he wasn't sure exactly why, but she was clearly unhappy. "Morgan, can I have a word with you? In private?" Her words were deceptively sweet as she stared down Chuck.

Morgan said, "Sure thing, honey bun." The two walked towards the home theater room, with Morgan blissfully unaware of the tongue-lashing he would likely receive. Oh, well. Chuck couldn't fix everything. At least, not immediately.


	10. Wrongs Can Help Make Things Right

**Scene XXX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah came out of the unused interrogation room, escorting a disconcerted looking repair man. She had to sweet-talk him a little to avoid having to make a formal report on why the camera 'malfunctioned'. Why was it that men, even those that worked for the CIA, would fall for a dumb blond routine every time?

Even with that going her way, she was still in a terrible mood. The aftershocks of her fight with Chuck still lingered in her system; he was unbelievably frustrating at times. Why couldn't she get through to him? If only he would truly listen to what she was saying for a few minutes, she was sure she could get him to understand what needed to change.

She was also bothered by her inebriation the previous night, for a number of reasons. At the top of her list was letting it happen in the first place. She had let her guard down, a cardinal mistake for an agent, allowing fatigue and whatever else cloud her judgment to the point that her cover could have easily slipped. Besides, she had really embarrassed herself with her dance at the end of the evening. What must Ellie and the others think of her now?

She shook the last thought out of her head. What Chuck's friends and family thought about her wasn't essential to the mission; it was what Chuck thought about her that mattered. Thankfully, she hadn't done something truly stupid like make a drunken pass at Chuck. That could have made things really awkward.

Still, she had to admit to herself, a core reason for her current mood was that Chuck was showing her up on the current mission.

Honestly, Sarah didn't begrudge Chuck any success. When she told Chuck he was good at his job, she was telling him the truth. He was doing a far better job than any of them had a right to expect, and he certainly wasn't doing anything malicious. He wanted to excel at his job, and she certainly respected that.

But Sarah's job was her identity, and for her to work 28 hours only to have Chuck come in and make a breakthrough in a couple of hours … well, that stung. That probably explained some of the emotion that came out in her argument with Chuck that morning. And that was unfair.

In general, she was just bothered by how the past couple days had gone. She needed some kind of win in the worst way, if only for her self-confidence.

Unfortunately, she had no idea where to look next. Casey sat at the center table, trying to make sense of the financial trails leading to the security firm. It was their last batch of records worth investigating; she and Casey had been through all the other file documents. More because she had no other leads than anything else, she decided to catch up on Chuck's interview with Cushman. Maybe it would spur some new ideas.

Sitting down at the monitoring station, she queued up the video. She watched the start of the interview unfold, with Chuck saying absolutely nothing until after he opened the can of Red Bull. The entrance was purely instinctual based upon the situation, and in retrospect, she had to admit it was fairly brilliant. It gave the suspect minimal reason to put his guard up, and the first thing he really heard was what he craved most.

She watched the interview progress for a bit before getting lost in the technical elements of their discussion. She started skimming through the long sections of tape, especially when there was no talking between the two. By watching the tape in fast-forward for so much of the time, she could actually see the change in Cushman's body language as time passed.

By the end of the interview, Jeremy and Chuck were chatting like old friends, sitting side-by-side on the same side of the table. Chuck was genuinely fascinated by what Cushman had done, and Cushman was genuinely happy to find somebody who both understood his work and shared his interests. They even shared a laugh as Chuck exited the room.

Sarah was far less embarrassed than she had been. She had talked to Chuck about the different talents that the team had, and the importance of having the right person doing the right task. What she hadn't realized, until that moment, was that Chuck was the right person for that particular task.

Without looking up from the video, Sarah called out, "Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"We're both cut off from talking to Cushman. It needs to be Chuck from now on."

"Yeah. I know."

**Scene XXXI – Buy More**

Chuck was sitting at the Nerd Herd desk, staring off into space. He was really suffering after his mostly sleepless night, struggling hard to stay awake. While he was still baffled by the argument with Sarah earlier, there was nothing he could do about that. For now, all he could do was figure out a way to make things work at the Buy More, and that meant somehow making things right with Big Mike. He drifted off into thought as he tried to figure out a solution.

Lester walked up to the counter, Jeff in tow. "Hey, look, it's the Karate Kid."

Chuck's expression became resigned. He had spoken very specifically to Morgan about how he didn't want any of his aikido activities to get back to the Buy More crew. "I'm not in the mood, Lester." Chuck pulled himself out of his chair and walked around the front of the desk, grabbing the clipboard with today's work orders.

Lester wasn't done. "No, no, Chuck, let's see what you've got." Lester started bouncing around in a bad semblance of Bruce Lee, thumbing his nose and dancing left and right. Jeff, with a huge grin on his face, gave out a drawn-out, "Owwwwwwwww," which wouldn't have been out of place in a kung fu movie.

"Ha ha. Very funny, Lester."

Suddenly, Lester stepped forward. He reached out to grab Chuck's right arm with his right hand. Instinctively, Chuck grabbed Lester's right hand with his left, and threw Lester using the technique taught at his aikido class. Lester's expression was a priceless mix of shock and dismay as he flipped over onto his back.

Chuck, on the other hand, felt a conflicted mix of satisfaction and remorse. "Sorry, man." He reached down to offer Lester a hand. Lester brushed the hand away and pushed himself up, dusting himself off with an irritated expression.

Lester seemed ready to let things go, but Jeff was obviously pissed, slowly building up the courage to defend his friend. With an angry cry, he lunged and grabbed Chuck the same way. The result was the same. Jeff lay prone on the floor with a dazed expression, the wind knocked out of him.

Chuck tried to calm things down. "OK, guys, enough. We've got work to do. Why don't we all just…"

Jeff leapt up, and with a look at Lester, the pair attacked Chuck simultaneously. Chuck narrowly ducked under their blows, turning to shove each of them in the back to push them out of reach. The two regained their balances and spun, each assuming a fighting stance. Chuck held up his hands, and in a somewhat frantic tone, said, "Guys, this is really getting out of control. There's no reason for this."

Chuck stopped talking when he sensed the pair were no longer looking at him, but instead were looking at somebody over his shoulder. He stole a quick peek, and then turned around in disbelief.

Anna stood to the side of the desk, about fifteen feet away. She wore her Catholic school girl outfit, too much eyeliner and an irritated expression. Her arms were crossed, fingers tapping on one arm.

"I don't know what bothers me more," she said to Chuck. "The fact that you don't take Morgan's addiction seriously, or the fact that I always seem to be third in line, behind both Bartowski's!"

Chuck took a quick peek behind him to check on Lester and Jeff; they seemed content to wait and see what would happen with Anna. Turning back, with a shrug he offered, "I'm sorry?" Did she really expect him to apologize?

Reaching over the desk, she pulled out … a small curved sword? Where did that come from? "I'm afraid that's not good enough," she said, carefully running a finger along the sharp edge with a small but evil grin. Suddenly, she brandished the weapon expertly, executing effortless twists and swings, the sword whistling through the air. Chuck swallowed hard.

"Chuck!"

The four turned to see Big Mike storm up, wearing a blue Buy More polo and a pair of khakis. Standing a few feet away, he angrily looked around the group. "What the hell is going on over here?" Anna let the tip of her sword drop; Jeff and Lester abandoned their fighting poses somewhat uncertainly.

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, for once glad to see Big Mike show up in that kind of mood. He wasn't certain how he was going to defuse things.

From over in the stereo section, suddenly the sound of singing filled the store, causing Chuck to look over. Morgan was showing a customer a high-end stereo system, and had the volume turned up. A loud _Whoa-oa-oa-oa…_ with faint background music filled the store.

Trying to concentrate, Chuck turned back to Big Mike, who was obviously still ticked. He decided to focus his ire on Chuck. "Why is it that you cannot keep your people in line, Bartowski?" Before Chuck could protest, he continued, "We've got a line of repair orders a mile long, and your people are standing around thinking about kicking the tar out of you."

_Whoa-oa-oa-oa…_ again filled the store. What was that song?

You just aren't providing the type of leadership I expect, and frankly, I'm beginning to see their side of things." In a single motion, he grabbed his shirt with both hands along the front collar and ripped it down the middle, tearing it off his body and exposing his large paunch. Chuck's eyes narrowed disbelievingly.

With wild eyes and a nod, he dropped into a fighting crouch, one leg in front of the other. "That's right; it's on now." Jeff, Lester, and Anna all assumed their own fighting stances in unison.

The music kicked into high gear.

_Everybody was kung fu fighting…_

Big Mike took three steps and launched a flying kick at Chuck, who barely had time to parry, pushing the kick to the side with a forearm. He used his other hand, and Big Mike's momentum, to send him stumbling into a rotating display tower of software books on sale, causing an avalanche of one part books, two parts Big Mike.

_Those kicks were fast as lightning…_

Swinging her sword to either side as she charged, Anna launched an overhead attack. Chuck caught her wrist at the top of her swing, managing to stop the blow before it really started. He twisted her wrist over, causing her to spin around and drop her sword with a cry; the sword clanged to the floor. He pushed her, almost gently, to the ground.

_In fact it was a little bit frightening…_

Jeff was stumbling around in a pale imitation of the drunken master style of fighting. With a maniacal scream, he suddenly lunged, but Chuck easily dodged to one side with a single step. Jeff, completely out of control, went tumbling into a shelf filled with iPod accessories.

_But they fought with expert timing…_

Lester, the last man standing, looked uncertain what to do with the other three dispatched. Chuck made a quick feint towards him; Lester immediately turned around and fled.

Chuck examined the other three, who were slowly picking themselves up and showed no inclination to attack him again. Dusting off his hands, he felt a small glow of satisfaction.

Then, something bothered him. Wasn't the defense routine he learned supposed to be for "five men, one with a knife"? But there had only been four…

As he turned around, Casey struck a huge blow to the center of his chest. Chuck slid across the floor and bumped his head hard against the Nerd Herd logo on the desk, slamming Chuck to a sudden stop.

The sound of a record scratch filled Chuck's head as the music, and the dream, abruptly ended. His eyes jerked open.

Chuck was sitting at the Nerd Herd desk, staring off into space with glazed eyes. Chuck shook his head: even in his dreams, and even against the Buy More crew, he still couldn't win a fight.

Lester walked up to the counter, Jeff in tow. "Hey, look, it's the Karate Kid."

Chuck's expression became resigned.

**Scene XXXII – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Casey came out of Davis' interrogation room. Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well?"

Casey said, "I told him we had proof that his company had been attempting to hack into a highly classified CIA server, and he finally broke a little. Davis admitted that they had an on-site meeting a couple of months ago with the suspect that I described. He remembers that it was downtown on Grand Avenue; he thinks he could find the building if we drove him down that way."

"What do you think? Is he telling the truth?"

"Don't know what other incentive he has to lie, except maybe seeing the sun again. And he knows what will happen if I find out he's lying." He rolled his eyes and corrected himself, "I mean, if you find out he's lying."

Sarah smirked; Casey wasn't used to playing good cop. "Was Cushman involved with the meeting? If so, we can verify things with him."

"Davis says no. Supposedly, it was a business development meeting, so Cushman wasn't involved. Still, wouldn't hurt to ask."

"Anything else?"

"Davis suggested that Cushman may have just been attacking the CIA server to see how good his code was; he's done things like that before. He also said he wouldn't recognize the IP address; he passed it along to Cushman a while back, and didn't really think about it again."

"So, we need to talk to Cushman."

"Yep. And for that we need Chuck. Did you find anything?"

"Not much. A couple of names and addresses that don't seem to link to anything. A phone bill with a list of numbers. Things that…"

"…Bartowski needs to look at? I'm sensing a trend here." Casey let out a long breath and collapsed into a chair.

The two sat in silence for a long moment, neither certain about what to do next.

Sarah mused, "Think this is what it's like to wait in the car on a mission?"

Casey grunted noncommittally.

After another long silence, Sarah looked at the clock. "All right; I'm going to pick up Chuck."

"OK. I think I'll wrap up Davis and take him for a drive. Maybe we can figure out where the office is."

Sarah walked over to the desk and grabbed her things out of a drawer. "Keep me posted." She headed for the exit.

**Scene XXXIII – Buy More**

Chuck walked towards the break room. Sarah was picking him up in a few minutes to take him back to the CIA facility, and he needed to grab his wallet out of his locker. He was a little bit grumpy about the prospect of a car ride with Sarah: he was still feeling exhausted, and the fight that they had this morning was still as fresh in his mind as if it had happened five minutes ago.

Entering the back hallway, he revisited the argument in his head. He stood by everything he said. Well, everything except a couple of the embarrassing misstatements he had made. He shook his head. He really needed some sleep.

As he turned the corner in the hallway, he found Jeff and Lester experimenting with a version of hackey sack played with a wadded up ball of packing tape. Frankly, it was as energetic as Chuck could remember Jeff ever being.

Upon seeing Chuck walk past the pair, Lester apparently decided there was a better game to be played. Lester let the ball fall to the ground and took up stride next to Chuck.

Jeff looked annoyed that Lester would abandon their game. "What, am I just supposed to play with myself?"

Chuck and Lester both stopped and turned back to face Jeff. After they stared at him disbelievingly for a minute, Jeff finally figured out his own unintentional double entendre. "Don't worry about it; I'll fill in my own punch line on that one."

The two turned back around and kept walking. Lester said, "So, Chuck. I admired the way you handled the Morgan situation earlier. Big Mike was certainly impressed."

Chuck kept walking. "Lester, I'm really not in the mood."

"No, really. He appreciated your decisive leadership."

"Can I take your unbridled glee to mean you finally feel like you've exacted your revenge on me?"

"Sorry, Chuck. Your unhappiness is nothing but a fortunate side effect of the game we're playing with Morgan. We'll still be exacting our revenge on you, and there is nothing you can do to stop us."

Chuck stopped, and turned to face Lester. "Nothing?"

Lester grinned smugly. "Nothing. We own Morgan. And if we own Morgan, we own you. Checkmate."

Chuck had put up with Lester and Jeff long enough. "Really. Come with me."

He turned around. Lester followed. "What, you don't even realize that you've already lost? Oh, this is rich."

Ignoring Lester's comment, Chuck lectured, "I've tried being nice to you two. I put up with your silly little 'revenge' plots. I put up with you getting virtually nothing done. But I draw the line at getting a Buy More employee further addicted to cigarettes so you can blackmail him."

"You don't seem to understand. The game's over. You have no moves."

"Oh, I've got one or two moves." The pair came to the corner of the hallway. Jeff was standing there, apparently still trying to come up with a punch line for his unintentional joke. Chuck cut him off when he tried to speak. "Jeff, just don't. You'll want to hear this, too."

Lester went to stand next to Jeff. When Jeff looked at him questioningly, all Lester could do is shrug.

Chuck pulled a small DVD out of his back pocket. "I hold in my hand a recording of your activities at the store the other night. I think you know what I'm talking about."

Lester put on an affected look of innocence. "No idea. Jeff?"

"Not a clue." Jeff had a little more difficulty hiding his worry.

Chuck walked over to the corner, and said, "Well, then, let me explain. You know the old security system? It was updated a few weeks back. So when you thought you were shutting off the old system, you were actually shutting down … nothing. You were actually caught on tape on the new system," Chuck patted the control box in the corner for emphasis, "shutting down the old system."

Lester looked a little more uncertain. Jeff wasn't buying it until he looked over at Lester, and suddenly Jeff looked more uncertain.

"However, that's nothing. What's truly important is what the new camera system caught you doing in the store. Would you really like me to announce what you were doing to the entire store? We could play this on the video wall. Maybe call Big Mike out for a screening."

Lester and Jeff stood there, not quite believing Chuck. Chuck was done playing. He walked down the hallway, fully intending to play the video on the wall of televisions. Lester finally broke. "Wait!"

Chuck turned around, and walked all the way back to Lester. "Here's how this is going to work. You will not sell Morgan any more nicotine gum. If you do, video wall." He shook the DVD in his hand for emphasis.

"You will not wear a Buy More assistant manager shirt again unless you actually assume the position of assistant manager. If you do, video wall. You will not, I repeat, will not try to exact your 'revenge' on me again. If you do, video wall. You will work your tails off for however long it takes to clear the backlog of Nerd Herd jobs that have built up because you two have been slacking off. If you do not, video wall.

"Most importantly, Morgan will be holding his Christmas gift in his hand inside a minute. If he isn't..."

Jeff hesitantly answered, "Video wall?"

Chuck said, "Good, Jeff. Video wall."

The three stood there looking at each other.

Chuck calmly said, "You now have 55 seconds."

Lester and Jeff looked at each other, then broke for the break room in a panicked run.

Chuck allowed himself a tight smile. He started walking back towards his locker, watching Jeff and Lester disappear through the break room door.

As angry as he was at Jeff and Lester, he was just as angry at Big Mike. Technically, the Nerd Herd and all the salespeople reported to Big Mike. His refusal to assign Chuck, or anyone else, the assistant manager position made for a muddy chain of command, especially with Big Mike hiding in his office all day long.

Jeff and Lester came sprinting out the break room, game in hand. Jeff held the game up as they ran past to show Chuck they were following orders.

Chuck yelled after them, "Thirty seconds, guys."

He returned to his former thoughts. How was he going to convince Big Mike that it was a serious problem when people who technically didn't report to him wouldn't follow his orders?

Chuck stopped walking. He just realized that he owed Sarah something of an apology.


	11. In Broad Daylight

**Scene XXXIV – Outside the Buy More**

The iPhone started vibrating in Chuck's shirt pocket just as he exited the Buy More. He quickly spotted the Porsche idling outside the entrance; Sarah was drumming her fingernails on the steering wheel as she pressed her phone to her ear. Seeing Chuck exit the store, she put her phone down. Chuck's phone stopped ringing.

He slid into the passenger's seat; as soon as his door was shut, Sarah took off. "You're late," was the only greeting he got.

Chuck quickly strapped himself in. "Sorry, I had to finish blackmailing Jeff and Lester." He thought the comment would be good for a start to a conversation, or at least for a laugh to break the ice after their earlier encounter. But while the corner of her mouth turned up for a second, it went back down just as quickly.

Realizing she wasn't going to respond, he turned his eyes forward. The pair remained quiet as Sarah wound her way out of the parking lot and out onto the main road.

Chuck thought he had gotten past their argument this morning, but her silence brought the tension back. He really didn't want to fight with Sarah any more, and not just because he was exhausted. Ultimately, Sarah had been largely right with her central point: there were certain occasions when he just needed to follow orders. He hadn't truly understood until Jeff and Lester unintentionally helped drive that point home.

He struggled to find a way to start the conversation. Looking over at Sarah, he thought he noticed a similar struggle going on inside of her. She looked over at him, her eyes snapping back to the road when she noticed him looking at her. As quick as she was, she hadn't been able to hide the slightest hint of sadness around the edges of her otherwise cold eyes. When she swallowed hard a moment later, his suspicions were confirmed.

One of them was going to have to play peacemaker; it might as well be him.

"Sarah?"

"What?" Sarah's eyes stayed locked on the road, her tone a little distant.

"What you said this morning about my following orders? You were right."

Sarah briefly looked over at him, her ice in her eyes melting slightly. Again, her eyes fled back to the road as she maneuvered through traffic. He suspected that was just a convenient excuse for her to look away.

Chuck continued, "Look, I stand by some of the other things I said. I can do more than haul around the Intersect and boot up computers. But you're right that we don't need three people involved in every decision, and some times I just need to follow orders."

Sarah processed what he said for a moment. She said, "Building a team takes communication and an understanding of each person's role; we could all do a better job of remembering that. We'll get there." After a long pause, she added, "But you were right about our needing to utilize all of your skills."

Chuck looked at her questioningly.

Glancing over as she could, she said, "I watched the recording of your interview with Cushman. That was well done, Chuck. Not only did you get the information we needed, but he really seems to trust you. That's not easy to do, even for a trained interrogator."

Chuck's expression clearly reflected his pride at the compliment. He didn't really know what to say. So, he looked over at her until a break in the traffic allowed her to look back at him. When their eyes met, he simply said, "Thank you, Sarah."

Her answering smile was like the sun coming up. Slightly embarrassed, she shyly hid from his gaze by glancing down at the center console, then reluctantly turning back to watch the road.

The pair stared forward through the windshield, enjoying a much different kind of silence. Both of them wore happy little smiles, and each looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Only the noise from the engine and occasional clicking of a turn signal disturbed the quiet ride. Chuck idly watched the storefronts and the traffic lights race by as they cruised through the Los Angeles streets, feeling as good as he had felt all day.

After a few minutes, Sarah said, "Speaking of trust, I never thanked you for your gift."

Chuck looked over and saw Sarah playing with the pendant on her necklace with one hand. "Ah, you figured out my riddle. Should've known an agent wouldn't have any trouble with that. I'll need to be a little more obscure next time."

"Next time?" Sarah asked with a grin.

Chuck raised an amused eyebrow. "If you're lucky. Seriously, I wanted the necklace to be more than just a part of our cover. I like my gifts to be something that people don't have or something they really need."

"Well, this one qualified on both counts. Thank you, Chuck."

Sarah's right hand slipped from the steering wheel and starting moving towards where Chuck's left hand rested on the center console between the seats. His heart raced.

At the last moment, her hand diverted to the gear shift, downshifting as she turned right. Chuck quickly looked at the road, trying to hide his disappointment. He really thought she was about to take his hand.

His mind floated back to the previous night, when Sarah had him alone in his room. Her hands tangled in his hair, her lips on his neck … even now, his eyes almost closed involuntarily at the memory. Chuck shivered.

Sarah looked over questioningly. "Are you cold? I can put the heat on."

It wasn't that cold a day, but Chuck didn't have any other escape. "I am a little cold."

Sarah reached down to flip the heater on. Her hand went back to the steering wheel.

For a long moment, Chuck considered whether to tell Sarah what happened in his room the previous night. In the end, he just couldn't. Something about the way she was interacting with him was more open, more honest, than usual. He was enjoying things too much, and he wasn't going to risk dispelling the fantasy that she was flirting with him. Besides, he had been there too often before, only to have his feelings cruelly doused with cold water.

No, he was going to do nothing that could sully this moment.

With a contented grin, Chuck leaned back in his seat. In his wearied state, the purring of the engine was lulling him to sleep. His eyes started to close; all he could see was Sarah, brushing back the bangs from his forehead as her mouth lingered near his…

Sarah broke the silence. "So, what was with you this morning?"

Chuck's eyes snapped open. He looked over at her quizzically. Sarah inquired, "'I don't have a problem with a woman on top?'"

Chuck became embarrassed; he had really hoped that particular miscue would have been forgotten. He started to marshal a response before he noticed the mischievous grin on her face. She was teasing him.

Well, two could play that game. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be? All right. What was up with you and Awesome's margaritas last night? My trash can - and my tooth brush - will never be the same."

Sarah's eyes lit up with amusement and mock indignation. "Aw, don't be like that, little lapdog. Come sit on my lap." She patted her thigh for emphasis.

He fished his iPhone out of his shirt pocket. "Well, if I did that, you couldn't do another one of your hat dances." He tapped the pad on the phone, playing the Mexican Hat Dance ringtone he had downloaded at the Buy More and gently turning the phone back and forth to the beat. He widened his eyes deliberately.

Sarah just laughed.

**Scene XXXV – Outside the CIA Facility**

Casey pulled the black Suburban up to the sidewalk leading to the front entrance of the CIA facility, with the passenger door facing the building. An agent wearing a black suit with a red tie escorted Davis onto the sidewalk; the pair walked towards the car. Davis was dressed in his clothes from the night of the raid, with his hands cuffed behind his back.

From behind the Suburban, a set of tires let out a shrill squeal as a high-powered engine raced. Casey looked in the driver's side mirror to see a plain black sedan swerve around the back of the Suburban and onto the grass.

The agent swung Davis back towards the door, throwing him to the ground. He tried to pull out his gun, but before he could remove the piece from its holster, the man in the passenger seat of the sedan fired off two quick rounds. The agent's right shoulder was thrown backwards; he slowly toppled to the ground, landing on his back with a dull thud.

Casey cursed; he had no angle to stop the men in the car from taking out Davis as well. Anticipating the car continuing around to the front of the truck, he pushed his door open. Instead, the sedan skidded to a halt between Davis and the truck.

Casey tried to find a safe position to take a shot at the driver of the car, but was quickly dissuaded as two quick gunshots shattered the passenger window and lodged in the roof of the Suburban. Ducking instinctively, Casey dove out the door, rolling around until he lay on his stomach, granting him a view under the Suburban. He positioned himself just in time to see both tires on the passenger side deflate as two more shots rang out.

Davis, hearing the car slide to a halt on the grass, rolled over onto his back. His eyes widened as a ski-mask clad man leapt out of the car and quickly covered the few feet between them. The man put a gun to Davis' head and roughly guided him over to the car.

Casey took a quick shot at each sedan tire, but each shot was repelled with a metallic ping of a protective shield. His face tightened in frustration; whoever these guys were, they were well-prepared.

"Get in!" the man in the ski mask demanded, brandishing the gun threateningly at Davis. A frightened Davis complied.

As soon as Davis got in the car, a shot rang out from Casey's gun, and Davis' captor let loose a string of expletives as he jumped into the car … off his one healthy foot. Casey had nailed the man in the other ankle.

His face took on a satisfied grin. He hadn't shot anyone in a while; it felt good.

"Get that S.O.B!" cried the injured man through his ski mask, slamming the car door shut. The engine roared to life as the driver complied, tires spinning on the grass.

Casey rotated his body on his stomach, trying to follow the car as it drove around the front of the Suburban, hoping to get a clean shot at the back of the rear tires as the car drove off. Unexpectedly, the car wheeled around the truck, the shields still denying Casey a shot at the tires.

Casey realized that he had miscalculated; the car was coming around for an attack on him! Lying parallel to the Suburban, he tried rolling underneath the car, but his positioning was bad. His shoulder hit the step plate, preventing him from getting under the vehicle. Even worse, his right arm was pinned by his body weight; he couldn't get his gun up to defend himself.

As Casey tried to free his right arm, the black sedan completed its turn and pulled up parallel to Casey. Another man clad in a ski mask pointed a gun out the driver's side window. Casey, knowing he had reached his end, did the only thing he could: he glared back at the bright green eyes of his killer.

From across the parking lot, a shot rang out. The sound of a racing Porsche engine grew louder as Walker, leaning out the driver's side window, emptied several more rounds into the sedan windshield. An uncertain-looking Bartowski held the steering wheel mostly straight as the car whipped across the parking lot. The car swerved just enough to keep Walker a little too off-balance to hit her target.

Still, the shots were close enough to force the driver to change his focus. Pulling his gun back into the car, he stepped on the gas, his car erupting forward. As the sedan gained speed, the two cars barreled directly at each other.

"Sarah!" Bartowski called out in a frightened voice.

"Keep it straight!" was all she said, trying to get a clean shot on the driver.

Neither car changed direction, with the sedan accelerating and the Porsche continuing on cruise control.

"Sarah!" Bartowski cried again.

Walker was about to take another shot when the Porsche hit a small pothole, jostling her aim. Muttering under her breath, she re-sighted.

The second man in the sedan recovered enough to sit up, intending to take a shot at Walker through the windshield. He quickly had second thoughts as a now-upright Casey fired his last rounds through the back window, forcing the man to duck. Ejecting the clip, Casey quickly reloaded.

Hearing Casey's shots pierce the back window, the driver of the sedan decided he had had enough. Tires squealing, he made a sharp right turn, slipping between a gap in the parked cars leading towards a lot exit.

Seeing this, Casey started sprinting across the parking lot on a parallel track, forced to dodge between parked cars at times. He made up a little ground as the sedan got up to speed, but soon the car greatly outpaced him. He knew it was hopeless, but he kept sprinting out of frustration.

Walker fired off two more rounds at the driver, but the speed of the Porsche and the cover provided by the parked cars made it an exceedingly difficult shot. She slid back into the driver's seat, knocking Bartowski's arms out the way. She tried to slow down to make the turn, but couldn't slow down quickly enough.

She let off the brakes and punched the accelerator; the car took off towards the far end of the parking lot. Sarah had to hope the driver would make a right when he hit the main road; otherwise, the sedan was as good as gone. However, she was again forced to slam on the brakes as an oncoming car made a wide turn into her path. She was barely able to swerve to avoid the car, quickly coming to a halt to avoid plowing into a row of parked cars. She slammed the steering wheel in disgust.

Casey quickly lost ground on the sedan as it crossed the rows of parked cars to get to the exit. The car took a sharp left, racing down one of the rows away from Casey, giving him no chance to take another shot. He watched helplessly as the sedan sped out of the parking lot and into the street.

**Scene XXXVI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

"What the hell happened?"

Chuck had to admit he was a little gratified to see Sarah take that tone with somebody else for a change. He had been on the business end of her temper too often lately.

Of course, Casey handled things a little differently than Chuck might have. "I don't know; maybe you can explain what passes for security at a CIA facility. How does a car with two men wearing ski masks casually slip up to an entrance?"

"That doesn't make any sense. We've got security cameras all over the property, and every car that enters is tracked. Two men sitting in a car, masks or not, would have caused a security alert."

"Apparently not. These guys had a straight shot at me."

Sarah started pacing as she thought. "Well, what if they didn't sit in the lot waiting? What if they had some way of knowing when you started moving Davis?"

"Like what? A mole inside the facility? That doesn't make me feel any better about the security here."

"Possible, I suppose. But what about a long-range homing device?"

Casey shook his head. "No, we made them change out of all of their clothes for just that reason. Unless…"

Sarah and Casey had the same idea simultaneously, but Sarah finished the thought. "…it was embedded under their skin?"

Chuck looked back and forth between the pair. "Is that possible?"

Casey said, "Sure, it's possible. We scan people like Larkin for devices like that, but we didn't bother with these guys. Maybe that was a mistake."

Chuck said, "I hate to ask the question, but why haven't you guys done that with me?"

"Well, Chuck, let's just say the power source for these types of units isn't the best for your health. Think radiation."

Chuck's face showed some disgust at the idea.

Sarah continued, "Besides, anyone can pick up on the transmissions. To keep power requirements down, these devices only broadcast on a small number of frequencies, which means you could be located by the very people we want to hide you from. Using a watch or a piece of jewelry, we have a larger footprint and a battery that can be replaced, which gives us more options." Her face betrayed the slightest hint of emotion as she made the statement, but neither Casey nor Chuck picked up on it.

"So, what do we do?" Chuck asked.

"We bring a scanner down here to examine Cushman. And whether or not he has a device on him, we've got to tell him that his boss was just kidnapped. And, somehow, we have to convince him to believe us."

"Why wouldn't he believe us?"

"In his shoes, would you believe anyone who walked in and told you that your boss, your friend, was just abducted in front of a CIA facility? Or would you think we were just trying to make you talk?"

"I didn't think of it like that. So how are you going to convince him of that?"

Sarah shook her head. "We're not, Chuck. You are."

Chuck looked back at her with a distressed expression.

**Scene XXXVII – Office**

"What the hell happened?"

The third suspect continued to rant at the driver of the sedan. "I told you we needed Cushman, not Davis. Davis does nothing for us. He's worthless."

The driver stared back with cold green eyes. "You know as well as I how this needed had to happen. We had no way of telling which transponder was which; your idiot team set them to the same frequency. When one of them was moved outside the building, we had to take our shot without knowing which was which."

The suspect, looking a little less sure of himself, ran his hand along his slicked-back black hair. The frequency issue was an unfortunate oversight, and he couldn't deny that it made things more difficult. Still, that didn't change the outcome. "You couldn't get close enough to ID Davis?"

"At a CIA facility? It had to be a quick strike or security would have picked up on us. Then we would have been fighting a dozen agents. We barely got out of there as it was."

The man with the green eyes towered a good foot or more over his counterpart, but he had no interest in upsetting the other man. He forced himself to be patient as the shorter man worked through what had happened.

Changing gears, the boss asked, "How is Vazquez?"

The green-eyed man shook his head. "Bad. The shot shattered a bone in his ankle; the bullet is still in there. He's in a lot of pain."

"We may need to leave him behind."

"It's not exactly good for morale when something like a gunshot to the foot proves fatal."

"These guys knew the deal when they signed on. Still, we can mitigate that a little. Take both Davis and Vazquez to the new facility, and have Jones stabilize Vazquez for transport. Then we'll drop him in a hole somewhere."

The driver winced. "That doesn't feel right."

"What do you want to do? Take him to the hospital? We're on foreign turf here with limited resources."

"I know. Still."

"Have somebody question Davis. Maybe he knows a way to get Cushman's code. I'll supervise the clean-up here."

**Scene XXXVIII – CIA Facility, Interrogation Room #3**

Chuck walked into the interrogation room with two cans of Red Bull and a bottle of water. As tired as he was, a Red Bull actually held some appeal for Chuck at the moment, but he had decided that would be a bad idea. He really needed a good night's sleep tonight.

Cushman brightened noticeably as Chuck entered; whether it was because of Chuck or because of what he carried, Chuck couldn't say. Still, it was gratifying to see Jeremy cheer up; he seemed like a good guy caught in the wrong place. That sounded more than a little familiar to Chuck.

Chuck smiled. "Hey, Jeremy."

"Hey, Chuck. I hope one of those is for me."

"Actually, both are. But you should really try to cut back on these; you've been going through some pretty serious withdrawal." Chuck set the cans on the table where Jeremy could reach them.

Cushman looked around the room. "Now that you mention it, this does look kind of like a rehabilitation facility. Maybe that Casey guy was just a bad hallucination."

Knowing full well Casey was listening, Chuck said, "I have entire months where I wished that was the case."

Jeremy laughed, cracking a can open. "Now, the blonde … Sarah? That's a hallucination I could live with."

"You realize that she's probably listening right now, and she knows forty different ways to kill a man with her bare hands."

"Hey, I spent most of the past two days wondering if you guys were going to take me out, so if I'm going to go…"

Chuck took a drink from his bottle of water. Things were finally good again with Sarah after their conversation in the car, but he wasn't comfortable enough to make cracks at her in this setting. She had been a little unpredictable lately.

Setting his bottle down, Chuck gathered himself for a tougher part of the conversation. "Jeremy…" he started.

"Cush."

"What's that?"

"My friends call me Cush."

Chuck gave him a genuine smile. "OK, Cush. We need to check something out. We're going to bring a guy in here with a scanning device. It's my understanding that it doesn't hurt; we're just testing out a theory."

"What theory?"

"We think somebody may have planted a homing device on you."

Jeremy gave Chuck an even stare as he processed what Chuck was saying. "Wow. Suddenly you sound as nuts as the other two agents."

Chuck didn't bother to correct him on the 'agents' part; there was no point in distracting from the central issue. "Well, they assure me that it's possible. If we're wrong, we'll know in five minutes."

Cush's eyes wandered the room as he thought. Finally, he watched Chuck for a long moment, giving him an assessing look. After a long silence, he said, "OK, Chuck."

Nodding his thanks, Chuck gave a thumbs-up to the mirror. The door opened and a man in a white lab coat wheeled in a device on a stand. The door was carefully shut and locked behind the technician.

While the equipment was being set up to the right of the table, Chuck asked, "Have you had any recent doctor's appointments, insurance physicals, things of that nature?"

Cush, watching the technician with a fair amount of interest, shook his head. "Nope. Brent and I only have catastrophic policies; it's one of the down sides of working at a start-up."

Chuck frowned. "No trips to the emergency room, tetanus shots, anything?"

"No, nothing. Except … well, I did get a flu shot a couple months back. Hurt like hell, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, some guy came through the building, compliments of the property owner. He was giving shots for 5 instead of the 20 they were charging at the supermarket. Brent and I both got one. But the way it hurt, we were second-guessing ourselves. Next time I'd pay the twenty bucks."

_If we're right, you'll definitely pay the money next time_, Chuck thought.

It had been simple enough to verify that somewhere in the building was the type of long-range transmitter they suspected. They had triangulated the transmitter to this room. But as Sarah and Casey carefully pointed out, the important thing was to make sure Cush believed that this wasn't some kind of set-up. They had to go through things deliberately and transparently so that Cush couldn't believe they were trying to trick him.

The technician finished his set-up, and looked at Chuck expectantly.

"Where did you get the flu shot?" Chuck asked.

"My right shoulder."

"Start with the right shoulder," Chuck ordered the technician.

The technician walked over and rolled up the right sleeve of the linen shirt. Reaching back, he grabbed the scanning wand and turned the unit on.

As soon as the switch was thrown, the scanner started making a relatively fast beeping noise. The technician started at Cush's elbow, and slid the scanner up to his shoulder. The beeping noise increased in frequency, maximizing in Cush's lower shoulder area. The agent gave Chuck a firm nod.

Cush looked at Chuck disbelievingly. "You're kidding me."

Chuck shook his head.

The programmer stared blankly off into space for a long moment, trying to get his head around what Chuck and the technician were telling him. _Here comes the freak-out_, Chuck thought. And he couldn't really blame the guy.

Cush's eyes lit up. "That is SO COOL!"

Chuck had to fight hard to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.


	12. Who Ya Gonna Call?

**Scene XXXIX – CIA Facility, Interrogation Room #3**

Jeremy sat in his interrogation room, a gauze pad taped to his right shoulder under his shirt sleeve. The technician headed for the door, his left hand holding the medical kit he used for the extraction and his right hand cupping the tiny transmitter. Casey and Sarah were going to examine the device for anything that might help determine its origin.

Chuck had left the interrogation room when the technician pulled out a wicked-looking device with a long needle. The last thing he heard was Cush asking several fascinated, rapid-fire questions about the removal device; however, Chuck had no real interest in anything to do with long needles. Instead, he had gone back to the main room and booted up Davis' computer. They were going to need to get on his machine to see if there was a reason Davis might be targeted.

Chuck brushed past the technician as he re-entered the room. Cush rubbed his shoulder, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "I can't believe somebody injected a homing device under my skin." He suddenly looked puzzled. "So, why would somebody do that?"

Chuck sat down across from Cush. "Well, the server that you were trying to break into is highly classified, so we strongly suspect it's related to that."

Jeremy's face turned pale. "What?! Really?" He thought for a moment, and then frowned. "I mean, the security on that box was decent, but it wasn't exactly top-of-the-line. The firewall was brutal, but still…" His voice trailed off, his face alternating between excitement and puzzlement.

Chuck shuddered. If Cush knew how high a priority that server was for the CIA, he'd probably be taking a different attitude. "So, what do you know about the client who commissioned the work?"

Cush said, "Not much. As a matter-of-fact, I was told almost nothing about him or his company. The guy didn't want us doing any social engineering on our break-in; we were just supposed to go straight at the thing."

That certainly seemed like a good cover story; it gave the client a valid reason to tell their company little about their intended target, and would minimize the chance of discovering that the target was a CIA server. Still, it seemed like Davis had to have spent at least a little time with the client. "What about Brent? Did he meet with the client at all?"

"A couple times at the beginning. He even made a trip over to their offices once."

"Do you know where the offices are?"

"Nope. Brent went on those types of calls alone."

Dead end. Chuck wanted to keep the conversation moving, but Cush asked Chuck the one question he didn't want to answer yet.

"Wait, why aren't you asking Brent about all of this?"

Chuck looked down, gathering himself. This wasn't going to be fun.

"Cush, earlier today Davis was taken from our custody by two men in an unmarked black sedan. That's how we found out about the transmitters; he must have had one in him as well."

A change in expression made it clear that this was no longer a game to Cush. "What do you mean, 'taken'?"

"The two men captured Davis and drove off with him. In the process, they shot a CIA agent, and almost killed Agent Casey."

Cush's face lost all color. "So what are they going to do to Brent?"

"We're not sure. But we need your help if we are going to find him."

Cush's expression turned anguished. He started to speak a couple of times, but clearly wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

Chuck leaned forward as he said, "Look, I know all of this is tough to take in right now, and it's a lot to ask for you put aside your fear for Brent's safety. But you'll have to trust me when I say that the best thing you can do for Brent is to help us find these guys."

At the words, Jeremy's face became a little calmer and a little more resolved. "How can I help?"

**Scene LX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah stood behind Chuck and Jeremy as they worked on the BD Security Enterprises computers. She shook her head in amazement; the two were like peas in a pod, at least when it came to computers, and they seemed to be becoming fast friends.

After Cushman had agreed to help, the two made a list of what they would need. It wasn't much; mostly, it was what Chuck had already requested at one time or another. Both departments weren't eager to help … until they both received an angry phone call from Director Graham. Suddenly, they had everything they needed.

Both of the computers sat on a folding table over in Chuck's corner of the room, with the printer sitting between them. Cushman was scanning through his email and notes, trying to find anything that would help lead to the mysterious client. Chuck was working on Davis' computer, looking through his recent documents. There was a fair amount of business development work, but nothing to do with the current client.

Cushman pushed back his keyboard. "Chuck, I got nothing here."

Chuck said, "There aren't any files, either. Let's check his email."

Booting up Davis' email client, the software offered a password screen. Chuck started to move the mouse to access the CIA software in the CD drive again, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Do you know his password?"

Cushman thought for a moment. "Try 'ucla1995'."

Chuck obliged. Sure enough, the system accepted it.

Cushman shook his head. "That was too easy."

Sarah asked, "What, that was a guess?"

"Yep. Brent is a huge UCLA basketball fan. 1995 was the year of their last championship."

Chuck grinned. "Nice guess." Cushman slid his chair over, and the pair started scanning Davis' email inbox. The system moved slowly as the software searched for an Internet connection that wasn't there. Chuck made an annoyed noise and disabled the feature. The responsiveness of the system noticeably improved, and they resumed their scans.

Davis was the orderly type, which actually was a bit of a problem. He had organized his emails into folders largely by company name, and they had no idea what the name of the company was.

Rather than the standard Microsoft Outlook, Brent used an open source mail client that Chuck wasn't as familiar with. He asked Cush, "Do you know if there is a way to see all the mail documents in one view?"

"Not exactly, but I should be able to work around that. Let me drive."

Chuck slid his chair over, and Cushman slid in front of the computer. Working faster than Sarah could follow, he opened some other type of editor, and the two men began talking, and typing, rapidly.

"…you think Perl is better than Python for this…?"

"…back up the inbox before you…"

"…not sure that will work for that format…"

"…don't be lazy, do a merge sort…"

Sarah was immediately lost by the technical talk. Still, she enjoyed watching Chuck in his element. When he had a degree of confidence about what he was doing, he was efficient and insightful. His eyes twinkled and his smile was electric.

She fought a sudden urge to brush the stray bangs from his forehead or find some other excuse to touch him as he looked over at Cushman. Instead, she forced herself to look away, unconsciously running a hand through her own hair as she tilted her head to the side.

Within a few minutes, Davis' email client was again running, completely stripped of all folders and organized by date. Sarah leaned forward to watch over Chuck's shoulder. She was momentarily distracted by a faint whiff of his cologne and the proximity of her lips to his neck. She forced herself to focus.

Looking back through the emails, Jeremy was able to rule out a number of companies, as they were clients he had worked with in the past. He was also able to rule out a few other company names based upon conversations he had had with Davis. He deleted all those emails from the copy of the mail file they were using.

Sarah finally felt useful, suggesting that they could eliminate a number of emails based upon date. Some of oldest and some of the newest emails were culled from the inbox.

That left a small set of emails to work from. Rather than deleting at this point, the three sorted the inbox by source domain and started marking emails with colored flags based upon their likelihood. The three started getting frustrated as they got towards the end of the alphabet without seeing a likely candidate.

"What about this one? 'ThirdWay'?" Chuck asked.

Cushman frowned. "I certainly don't recognize the name. Let's see what's in the emails."

The earliest email was a perfunctory contact email, inquiring about the services that BD Security Enterprises offered. They quickly closed that one.

The second email talked more specifically about a rigorous test of the company's network defenses. Specifically, the email asked whether a hacker break into the system without knowing a thing about it, other than the external IP address.

Brent's reply assured the client, 'Ray', that his 'team' was more than capable of cracking into any system. Ray's reply suggested a meeting in November, and the remaining email chain talked about the details of the meeting, including a request for BD Security's fax number for sending directions. There were no more emails after the meeting date.

Cushman was excited. "This has to be the one. The meeting date is just about perfect, and the initial description of the project sounds just like what Brent initially talked to me about."

Sarah pointed out, "But we still don't know where these guys are. And we didn't find a fax in any of the records."

Chuck suggested, "Well, let's go see what we can find on the web."

The three hurried over to the monitoring desk, where Chuck quickly logged into the system. Pulling up a web browser, Chuck started with a Google search on ThirdWay, and found … nothing. "That's weird," he said.

Sarah said, "Not really. It would only make sense if these guys worked hard to stay off the radar."

"Fair enough."

Cushman suggested, "The email domain was ''. See if they have a web site."

Chuck tried the address. No page came up. "Maybe they took it down already?"

"Can you even ping the domain?"

Chuck pulled up a command window, and sent out a ping. The reply came back empty. "Damn. The domain is gone. There isn't even an IP address showing any more."

The group grew silent for a moment. They were clearly running out of ideas.

Chuck snapped his fingers. "Email headers!" he exclaimed.

Cushman immediately headed across the room to Davis' computer. Sarah, having no idea what he was talking about, asked, "What?"

Chuck explained, "The email header will have the originating IP address. Maybe we can use the IP address to find out who registered it. The registry records tend to lag before they get updated."

Cushman, having gone into the email client and accessed the email headers, called across the room, "Ready?"

"Hit me."

The record came up in WHOIS. Scanning down, Chuck found what he was looking for.

"We have an address. 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Los Angeles."

Sarah added, "Davis told us the place was on Grand Avenue downtown. That has to be it." She picked up her phone, and called Casey at the Buy More. "We have a target location. When can you be ready?"

Cushman came back across the room and asked excitedly, "What do we do now?"

With a slightly self-deprecating grin, Chuck said, "We wait in the car."

**Scene LXI – 506 S. Grand Avenue**

Chuck wasn't exactly right about the two of them waiting in the car. Cushman, despite his strong protests, stayed back at the CIA facility. They weren't about to bring a witness along on a mission, especially after the only other witness had been forcibly taken from their custody. Cushman was staying at the CIA facility, with a group of three guards securing the interrogation room just in case.

However, the agents thought Chuck might be able to flash on something they found in the office, so he was coming along. In fact, he was driving; they weren't about to struggle to find a parking spot for the Suburban downtown.

Chuck parallel-parked the Nerd Herder in front of an old 30-story office building. The façade was a gray stone that, it its prime, probably made the building look dignified. Today, the building just looked dingy and in dire need of repair. The owners clearly agreed, because a number of construction vehicles were clustered on the slate patio around the main entrance.

Sarah asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Casey shrugged. "We go in, find the office, crack a few skulls if we find any bad guys, and get home in time for Jeopardy."

"Subtle. Hopefully we'll leave a couple conscious enough for questioning?"

"Well, if we have to."

Chuck clapped his hands. "I love this plan. I'm excited to be a part of it. So, you want me to find a shady spot, keep the engine running, what?"

Sarah answered, "You're coming in."

Chuck made no effort to hide his surprise. "Really?"

Casey said, "We wouldn't be able to do a very good job protecting you from the 22nd floor, so we're taking you with us."

Chuck looked down at his customary Buy More uniform before comparing it a little jealously with Sarah and Casey's outfits. Both were wearing casual clothes that were still form-fitting enough to allow easy movement. "Wish I'd known; I could have thrown on something a little more action-friendly."

"Don't worry, Chuck. Your outfit shouldn't impede you from fulfilling your usual contributions: letting out a scream, falling to the ground in fear…"

Sarah interrupted, "Enough. Let's get going."

The three exited the car and crossed the patio to the front entrance. Two of the main doors were propped open; the high-pitched whine of a circular saw grew louder as they walked into the building.

As they entered the dust-filled lobby, Sarah's expression became painfully amused. "Oh, my God."

Casey let out a groan that made it clear what he thought.

Chuck looked around, as surprised as the others at what he saw. "Art deco – very nice."

The reason for the construction crews was immediately obvious: the interior of the building was as sorely out of date as the exterior. Retrofitted columns throughout the lobby were painted garish light colors. Odd geometric shapes were incorporated into the light fixtures and features along the wall. Maybe in the 80's the lobby could have passed for fashionable, but it was now woefully out of style.

In fairness, the basic structure of the lobby was fine. The wall that they had just passed through and the wall to their left were both all glass, allowing the afternoon sun to illuminate the entire lobby. The windows were so filthy that shadows were visible on the floor and the wall from some of the larger dirt spots, but it was nothing a little elbow grease couldn't fix.

However, to their right was a garish bar area that seemed to epitomize the style of the place. Large, deliberately nonsymmetric archways provided access to the space. A low, thick white wall with a semi-circular bevel on the top separated the bar area from the lobby. Happily, the furniture was gone; Chuck was scared to think what might have been used to complete the theme. Thankfully, the man with the saw was working on removing the arches, one light pink and one light orange, indicating that the area was going to be redone.

A wooden circular desk sat in the middle of the polished stone floor. The color theme had been carried over; the desk had been painted bright white, and four lightly colored pillars rose up from the desk. Like everything else, a layer of dust from the construction work covered each available surface. A worker wheeled a sandblaster over, preparing to peel the paint off the wood.

A bank of three elevators sat in a wooden wall to the right of the information desk. Each of the elevators was framed by a differently colored and shaped arch. Somebody had started to remove the white paint from the wood in the lower right-hand corner of the wall, revealing the original grain.

Of the most concern to the team was the fact that all three of the elevators bore "out-of-order" signs.

Casey had to yell to be heard over the noise of the construction work. "Great. Dead end."

Sarah responded, "Maybe not." She walked over to talk to the man with the circular saw; he gladly stopped his saw for a moment to talk to the pretty blonde. Sarah kept a friendly expression on her face through the brief conversation; the worker pointed across the lobby in response to one of her question. Thanking the man, she walked back to her teammates. The worker stared at her for a moment too long before returning to his saw work, the lobby filling with the high-pitched whine and dust once more.

As she approached the pair, she shouted, "The entire building is undergoing renovations right now; internal construction is supposed to take a few months. Most of the remaining tenants left or found temporary offices elsewhere before the New Year. However, a few tenants kept their things in their offices upstairs."

She continued, "Unfortunately, the elevators are currently being worked on, which means taking the stairs." She pointed in the same direction the worker had pointed.

Casey sardonically responded, "Nice." He made one last check, mostly mental, of the gear he had brought.

Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them. "You're kidding, right? Climb 22 flights of stairs? You picked this mission for me not to wait in the car?"

Casey and Sarah turned and began walking towards the stairs. Casey called, "C'mon, Bartowski. Those scrawny legs could use a workout. Last time I saw legs like that, there was a message attached."

Chuck's expression was more surprised than insulted. He replied, "Seriously, just how old is that joke? I thought you were 'cold school', not 'old school'." Reluctantly, he followed the agents towards the stairwell.

**Scene LXII - 506 S. Grand Avenue, Stairwell**

Sarah knelt down at the base of a set of stairs, pointing her gun up the incline with both hands. She gave a curt nod, her eyes never wavering.

Casey slid around behind her, pointing his gun up the stairs over Sarah's head. Confirming the stairwell was clear, he slipped past Sarah and took the steps in pairs, climbing just high enough to give him a good view through the triangle created by the next flight of stairs and the roof above the current flight. Scanning the stairs and listening intently for a moment, he gave a curt nod.

Sarah passed behind Casey, climbing to the top and assuming a kneeling position as she pointed her gun up the next set of stairs. She gave another curt nod.

Casey glanced back down the stairs before proceeding. "Where the hell is Chuck?" Casey demanded irritably, fighting to keep his voice down.

A flight down, a winded Chuck pulled himself up the stairs as quickly as he could. After a moment, he turned the corner.

Spotting Casey and Sarah in their defensive positions, Chuck hunched over, clutching the railing for support, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Casey hissed, "C'mon, Bartowski, it's not like we're climbing Everest here."

Chest heaving, Chuck looked around the walls for something to indicate the floor they were on. Beyond where Sarah crouched, there was an exit to the stairwell; to the left of the door was a lighter colored square where a marker usually indicated the floor. It must have been taken down for the construction work.

The brief respite did Chuck some good. He was finally able to whisper, "What floor are we on?"

"Somewhere in the teens."

"Alright, when we get to twenty, tell me: I'm gonna throw up."

Casey rolled his eyes, and began his sweep around Sarah.

**Scene LXIII – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Stairwell**

By Casey's count, they had hit the 22nd floor. He pointed to the door; Walker nodded, concurring.

Still, they had to wait on Bartowski. By the sound of it, he was still two floors below. Walker took the opportunity to put her ear to the door, listening for any sound. Meanwhile, Casey scouted an extra flight to ensure nobody was lurking above.

By the time Bartowski arrived, Casey had returned and Walker had been listening at the door for a full minute; she shook her head to indicate she had heard nothing.

Casey was also shaking his head, but for a very different reason. "You all right?" he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn't concerned.

In between breaths, Bartowski managed to say, "I feel like the floor of a taxi cab."

Walker silenced both of them with a look.

When she was convinced the two of them were going to stay quiet, she started giving hand signals to Casey. As usual, Walker was all business during a mission.

That was a big part of why she was still on this assignment. Casey had enough to report, and enough evidence, that he could probably get her re-assigned if it suited him. Her margarita-driven escapade the other night was enough to ensure that. But he had to admit, despite the little sideshow with Chuck, that he had trouble imagining a better partner.

Especially since the sideshow could eventually provide him with a convenient exit strategy when the time came.

Besides, he hadn't forgotten that Sarah had saved his life earlier that day. He wasn't so cold-hearted that that didn't count for anything. He almost regretted what it would do to her once the order came. Almost.

Walker double-checked that her piece was locked and loaded; Casey did the same.

Bartowski got his typical confused expression when Walker signaled for him to move to the corner. Her expression became annoyed; she pointed at Bartowski, and then pointed to the corner. He finally got the message, and with an apologetic look quickly slid to the corner.

_Idiot_.

Walker crouched down on the left side of the doorway and counted down from five on her left hand, her right hand pointing her gun where the door would open. She stopped counting at two to use her hand to steady her aim.

When the count reached zero, Casey yanked open the door as quietly and quickly as he could, and visually scanned the area opposite the door. His line-of-sight was clear.

Sarah nodded; her line-of-sight was clear as well.

The stairwell door led into an open area; on the opposite wall was the three useless elevators. On either end of the open area, double glass doors led into suites. Hallways spun off down the sides of those suites, and he assumed, the sides of the suites they currently couldn't see.

It was a difficult situation. There were six different defensive positions: the four halls and the two suites. After all, the glass wasn't going to stop bullets.

Casey thought quickly. Since the door had made little noise when he opened it, it was unlikely anyone listening around either corner would have heard them. So, they should focus on the opposite hallways and the suites. He tapped Walker on the foot with his; she pulled back into the stairwell for cover and looked up. A series of hand signals conveyed what he was thinking.

Sarah nodded, an intense expression on her face. She clearly loved this stuff as much as he did. Another reason she made a great partner.

Casey indicated that Bartowski should stay put; he gave a nervous, and slightly grateful, nod.

This time, Casey counted down from five on his left hand. Reaching two, he set up his grip on his gun. On zero, the two leapt into action.

Casey went first, nimbly side-stepping into the foyer. He sighted the opposite hall, then the suite, then the previously unseen hallway. Nothing.

As soon as Casey cleared the doorway, Walker followed suit, covering the opposite side of the foyer. Opposite hall, suite, unseen hallway. Nothing.

Casey risked a quick scan of the ceiling and wall area. There was no evidence of cameras. He scanned Suite 2206 through the doors. It was dark, and looked empty.

"Walker, you clear?"

"Yep."

"OK, let's check the suite."

Casey acted as lookout while Sarah ducked her head into the stairwell. Bartowski followed her out, doing a ridiculous walk on his tip-toes. Apparently Walker had told him to stay quiet. His glance told Bartowski exactly what he was thinking.

_Idiot_.

Walking to the suite entrance, Casey tested the left door. It swung open easily. Either somebody was inside, or this place had already been abandoned. They had suspected the latter, which is why they felt it was OK to bring Bartowski along. Still, they had hoped they would find something, or someone, at the office.

Casey pulled the door open. Bartowski finally did something useful, holding the door so the two agents could slide into the front space without distraction.

The suite had an open welcome area with a high receptionist's desk in the middle of the room and two simple chairs along either wall. Beyond the receptionist's desk was a narrow space with some filing cabinets along both side walls. The cabinet drawers sat open … and empty.

Halls spilled off to both sides of the entrance. The agents stood back-to-back, with Walker staring down the right hallway and Casey staring down the left. The pair stood silent for nearly two minutes, listening for any indication that somebody else was in the suite. They heard only silence.

"Listen!" Bartowski exclaimed. "Do you smell something?"

Walker nodded, noticing the unmistakable acrid stench in the air. "Bleach. This place has been cleaned out already."

Casey holstered his weapon; Walker followed suit. "Looks like we're too late," he suggested.

Walker motioned Bartowski into the suite. "Well, maybe they missed something. I think we'd better split up."

Nodding, Casey said, "Yeah, we can do more damage that way. Go check out the offices down your hall. Bartowski and I will check the offices on the other side."

The group split, flipping the light switches in their respective hallways.

Casey and Bartowski walked down the left hallway, pausing at the first office door, which stood open. Some basic office furniture remained: a black-cushioned office chair, a desk, a hutch and a low filing cabinet. All the furniture except the chair was obviously from the same set, with a boring dark stain on each piece's cheap wood veneer. The drawers all sat open.

"Check those," Casey tersely ordered Bartowski. He entered the room without comment, and began searching for anything.

Casey proceeded to the next office, which looked almost identical to the first, down to the open drawers. Nothing. Damn.

Bartowski showed up at the office door about the time Casey finished his search. Bartowski's expression and empty hands answered his unvoiced question. Wordlessly, he slipped ahead of Bartowski down the hall.

The two finished searching the last four offices in pairs. All of them had the same furniture. All were completely cleaned out. The two headed back to the central area, and started searching the receptionist's area.

On the other side of the suite, Sarah had already searched a conference room and three offices. The hallway turned to the right after the just-searched corner office, and she saw four more doors down this hallway. They were running out of possibilities; it killed her that their sloppiness might end up allowing the suspect to escape scot-free. But if they didn't find anything here, they were pretty much out of ideas.

Walking down the hall for a bit, she came to a pair of doors directly across from each other. The door on her left was open, leading to another windowed office closely resembling the ones she had searched.

The door on her right, unlike the others, was just barely cracked rather than wide open. Another difference was the extra fixture high on the door: it was designed for a padlock to provide extra security against opening the door. Or was it to make it difficult to open the door from the inside?

It was probably nothing, but she drew her gun anyway. She pushed the door open with her right foot; it creaked as it slowly rotated counterclockwise, coming to a rest against a wall. Light from the hallway spilled into part of the darkened room, revealing a dirty but empty space with a concrete floor. Maybe a storage room?

She risked a quick peek into the room, quickly pulling her head back out. This room ran a long ways along the hallway, long enough that the light from the hallway couldn't illuminate the darkness at the far end, or along the interior wall.

She reached her right hand into the room and felt around. Her fingers encountered a light switch, but nothing happened when she flipped it.

A hand grabbed her arm with an iron grip, and flung her onto the ground inside the room. Her gun went skittering across the floor.

Before she could recover, the door slammed shut, casting the room into utter darkness. A metallic noise suggested that the extra fixture had been closed, followed by a fainter, yet different, metallic noise. Then there was only silence and darkness.

She had no idea where the door or her gun was.

"CASEY! CHUCK! WATCH OUT!" Sarah yelled at the top of her lungs.

**Scene LXIV – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206**

Back in the receptionist's area, both Chuck and Casey heard the door slam and Walker's repeated muffled cries. "Sarah!" Chuck cried under his breath.

He instinctively took off at a run, and was promptly horse-collared by Casey.

"Where do you think you're going?" Casey asked in a low tone.

Chuck looked back at him with wild eyes. "We have to help Sarah!" He tried to take off again, and Casey easily yanked him back, turning Chuck to look fiercely in his eyes.

"And we will. But we have to stay calm." Casey emphasized the last two words.

"Stay calm. Right. Stay calm." Chuck was uncertain what to do; he had trouble getting past the idea of Sarah in trouble. _Sarah!_

Unable to do more than focus on the word 'calm', he closed his eyes and started a breathing exercise from his aikido class. A deep breath whooshed into his lungs.

Casey smacked him on the side of his head. Chuck's eyes angrily shot open; he would have verbally laid into Casey had he not put a finger to his lips. Chuck, abashed, quickly got the point.

Listening for a moment, the pair heard nothing. Motioning for Chuck to slide behind the reception desk, Casey slid along the wall on Sarah's side of the office, gun drawn.

Chuck watched with bated breath; apparently, Casey still heard nothing. Remembering Casey's instruction, he quietly side-stepped behind the high receptionist's desk for cover, crouching over but peeking over the top.

Taking a deep breath, Casey spun into the middle of the hallway.

Before he could get the gun fully turned down the hall, a short blur in a mostly black outfit leapt into the air and delivered a flying head-butt to Casey. Casey stumbled backwards before falling back to the ground, stunned.

The blow slowed the figure to a stop; apparently the blow stunned him a bit as well. Chuck recognized the figure from the other night, the one who had taken him out so easily. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so bad about that.

Shaking off the pain, the figure turned towards Chuck. The man's hair was slicked back, his intense brown eyes daring Chuck to come fight him. It was nothing Chuck wanted any part of, and he put up his hands to show that. His single self-defense class wasn't going to help him, not against a guy who could take Casey down so easily.

Seeing Chuck pass on the fight, the man's eyes narrowed, and he smirked. Chuck's eyelids grew heavy.

A picture of a dark-haired man wearing a flowered hat hitting a golf shot.

A grainy security video of the man taking out three suspects in less than two seconds with fairly simple punches and kicks, his motions a blur. He looked at the camera; his eyes narrowed, and he smirked.

A dossier on the man, including name, statistics, known aliases.

A document in Spanish, on the letterhead of the government of Venezuela.

A picture of a gigantic orange bomb, with an accompanying document detailing the specs of the GBU-43/B.

A color photo of the suspect looking suspiciously around a European-looking plaza; two men in plain suits are blurry in the background.

The picture of the golfer.

Casey stirred on the floor, and in a flash, the suspect was out the door and heading for the stairwell. Casey sat up, and squeezed off rounds at a slow, erratic pace.

Unfortunately, in his dazed state, Casey came nowhere close to the suspect. Chuck flinched in horror as Casey took out both glass doors, a light fixture by the elevator, and one of the doors from the opposite suite. He continued to shoot long after the door to the stairwell slammed shut.

Chuck shouted, "Whoa-oa-oa-oa!" Casey finally stopped shooting. "Nice shootin', Tex!"

Casey turned to glare at Chuck, but his eyes rolled back in pain. Chuck hurried over; pulling on Casey's arm, he was able to help an unsteady Casey to his feet. Casey's eyes were wide, and oddly enough, impressed. "Good hit," he managed to say, looking owlishly at Chuck.

Chuck helped pour Casey into one of the chairs. Casey stared blankly into space, gingerly touching his head where the blow had landed. A slick patch of hair gel marked the area where the suspect's blow had landed, and some of it was now on his fingers. He looked down at his fingers. "Slimy bastard got me."

Seeing Casey was OK for the moment, Chuck ran back down the hallway in search of Sarah.

**Scene LXV – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11**

Sarah was completely disoriented. She crouched on the floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough to give her a hint of where the door might be. But even as her eyes adjusted, she was unable to see the slightest trace of light.

While she waited, she listened intently for some sign of what was happening in the rest of the office. Chuck was OK, she reminded herself. Casey was with him.

She had just stood up to search for the door when she heard a gunshot, muffled by the walls between her and the front office. Then another. And another.

She tried to understand what was happening from the firing pattern, but it seemed to be utterly random. And why was there the sound of broken glass? Nobody should have gotten out of the office; Casey should have cornered the guy …unless Casey had been taken out, and Chuck was trying to escape into the hall …

"CHUCK!!" she heard herself scream.

It was no use. Nobody would hear her over the gunfire, not that it mattered. She was helpless.

Suddenly, it was quiet. She covered her mouth with a hand, tears coming to her eyes.

Was he gone?

The silence continued for an agonizingly long time. She knew she should be adopting a defensive position, or searching for her gun. But all she could do was listen for some sign that Chuck was still alive.

An eternity passed, but the sign finally came. "Sarah?" Chuck called out, seemingly a long distance away.

She fought back a sob of relief. Her spy training finally kicked back in, and she quickly steadied her voice before responding. "Chuck! In here. First door on the right."

**Scene LXVI – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206**

Chuck breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he heard her response. He ran down the hallway to the specified door. The suspect had slid a large paper clip onto the fixture; Chuck quickly removed it and threw the door open.

Inside, Sarah blinked rapidly as she turned towards the door. She used her forearm to protect her watery eyes as they struggled to adjust to the sudden influx of light. "Chuck?" she asked hesitantly.

With a soft cry, Chuck ran up to her where she stood. She kept her forearm over her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to see in the glare.

He knew he had no right to do it, but he couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close.

Sarah tensed up, her arm trapped between her face and his shoulder. Realizing what he had done, he loosened his grip so she could pull away. He started to think about what he would say when she did.

Instead, she extracted her arm from between them so she could lay her head on his shoulder, her head pointed to the side. She slipped her arms under his, and pulled herself closer to him.

He tightened his grip again, his heart racing. He wasn't sure what this meant, but at the moment, he didn't really care.


	13. A Little Not So Friendly Competition

**Scene LXVII – 506 Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11**

Sarah rested her head on Chuck's shoulder, eyes closed, holding him tightly to her. She savored his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, his smell. For a long moment, nothing else mattered.

She thought she had lost him; now she only wanted to lose herself in him.

As time passed, a small smile gradually came to her lips. Her head nestled neatly into the crease between his shoulder and neck, as if the spot had been created just to cradle her head.

The palm of his right hand slowly stroked up and down the center of her back as his other arm returned her embrace across her shoulders. She felt an urge to make a sleepy, happy noise.

Almost hesitantly, he loosened his embrace. One hand rested gently on a shoulder blade, while the other hand cupped the small of her back.

Reluctantly, Sarah loosened her grip as well, allowing his body to float away from hers. Her front, deprived of his chest, suddenly felt a little cold. Their arms dropped to their sides as the distance between them increased.

As he separated from her, she felt his probing eyes upon her. She looked up with a vulnerable expression, searching his eyes with hers.

His expression was tender, but questioning. She realized that he didn't understand. How couldn't he understand?

She slowly realized that he was patiently waiting for her to say something. Desperately, her mind searched for a way to change the subject, and quickly found one.

"Um, what happened? Is Casey OK?"

The tenderness flowed out of Chuck's face, leaving only the questioning. In a slightly sick voice, he said, "He took a knock to the head; he'll be fine. But we should probably go check on him." His posture was slumped as he shambled towards the door.

Her heart ached to see him like this; knowing that she was doing this to him only made it worse. A part of her that had been pushed to the side during her years of being an agent tentatively ordered, _Stop him._ Her training overrode her emotions, keeping her from acting. As she watched him walk away, that part of her wouldn't be denied.

_Stop him!_

"Chuck?" she called, just before he reached the threshold.

He stopped, turning back towards her, his eyes holding a faint flicker of hope. "Yes?"

"Walker! Bartowski! Where are you?" Casey barked down the hallway in a testy voice.

Chuck's eyes closed with a pained look, a pain Sarah shared in her gut. But she couldn't give Casey any hint she might be compromised.

There was no time to explain this to Chuck. Again, she composed herself. "Casey? In here. First door on the right." She looked at Chuck with sad eyes for a moment longer before turning and walking back into the darkness.

Chuck opened his eyes to find her gone.

**Scene LXVIII – 506 Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11**

Casey stumbled into the room, holding his forehead. When he first entered the room, he couldn't see anybody; instinctively, he reached over and flipped the light switches. Nothing happened. "Walker? Bartowski?"

As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out details. Walker was crawling on the floor, feeling around. She cursed, jerking back as her hand encountered something sharp.

Towards the back of the room, Bartowski was crouched on the ground facing away from him. Curiously, he wasn't moving much.

Something didn't make sense, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He wondered what he had missed. Couldn't leave these two alone for a minute - although from what he could tell, they didn't have a clue what to do with the private time.

Casey pulled a flashlight from his kit and shined it around the room. Sarah gave a grateful sigh: with the help of the light, she located and picked her gun up off the floor. The attacker must have taken her out as well, although she wasn't staggering around like a drunken sailor. Why was he always the one to get clocked?

Musing on that for a second, he continued to scan the floor with the light. There rest of the room was empty except for broken glass from the light fixture in the ceiling, a single box, and a few sheets of stationery scattered on the ground. It would have to wait; the assailant might bring back reinforcements.

"C'mon. I phoned a clean-up team; they'll be here in twenty. We need to secure the floor." Wordlessly, Bartowski and Walker moved with him to the exit to the room.

Walker and Casey made a quick sweep through the rest of the suite, Bartowski lurking behind them. The remainder of the office proved to be empty. Their attacker had to have been there for some reason, but aside from the box in the dark room, there was no reason apparent on their quick sweep. Hopefully that meant that the last box held something useful.

There was no time for a more thorough search. Casey and Walker bunkered down to guard the stairwell until the NSA cleaning crew arrived; Bartowski lingered in the safety of the office. Within 15 minutes, six men in construction uniforms emerged from the stairwell after giving proper countersigns to Casey's coded challenges.

Two of the agents helped escort the group down the stairwell. They arrived at the lobby uneventfully, where two other "workers" signaled all-clear before the three exited the stairwell. Their two escorts headed back up to the suite; the expression on Bartowski's face made it clear he did not envy them a second climb.

The three quickly made their way out to the Nerd Herder. Casey volunteered to take the back seat; his head was throbbing a bit from his injury, and sat with his head back most of the way to the CIA facility.

With Casey nursing his headache, Bartowski and Walker shared a quiet ride back to the facility. Neither said much; for the most part, they spent their time in the car with eyes forward. Casey did catch Bartowski taking a look over at Walker, but she didn't respond.

Something certainly had happened. He tried to distract himself from the pain by considering the possibilities, but between the headache and the bouncing of the Herder, he finally gave up and focused on blocking out the pain.

The team arrived at the facility and returned to the main interrogation room. Relieving the three agents on watch, they decided to leave Cushman in his interrogation room for the moment. The group collapsed into chairs around the center table, not knowing what to do next.

Casey had secured a bag of ice on the way up; he leaned back as he applied the ice pack to the ugly red welt on his forehead. "So, did we get anything while we were there?"

Sheepishly, Bartowski said, "Well, I know who the attacker is."

Walker gave him a hard look. Casey was so irritated that he took the effort to remove his ice pack and lean his head forward just so he could glare directly at Bartowski. "Didn't you think that might be important information for us to have?"

"Sorry," he stammered. "I got distracted … you know, the head butt, the shooting, the flying glass … the not-knowing-if-a-team-member-was-dead." Walker's expression seemed to soften for a moment when he said that, but her poker face was back in place almost immediately.

Ah, so maybe that was part of what went on. Bartowski probably made an emotional little display when he found Walker. The question became: how did Walker respond?

That was a mystery for another time. Casey made a show of leaning back and applying the ice pack to the rest of his head, as if Bartowski was giving him the headache. He didn't need to act much. "All right, Bartowski, whatcha got?"

"The speedy blur with the head of steel is Ernesto Gomes, a Venezuelan spy. He occasionally goes by the nickname … um, Rah-yo Nee-gro."

Sarah gave him an odd look. "You mean R-a-y-o N-e-g-r-o?" she asked, spelling the words.

Bartowski nodded. Sarah said, "Rayo Negro. It means 'black lightning' in Spanish. Sounds more like a nickname than a code name."

Without looking up, Casey interjected, "Well, we are talking about the Venezuelan Secret Service here."

Bartowski continued, "He's been with their service about 12 years, done a number of operations and assassinations, and holds the honorary rank of colonel in their military."

Casey asked, "So what's Greased Lightning doing in Los Angeles?"

"Good question. He was in the States a couple years back, trying to acquire a GBU-43/B unit."

"He was after a MOAB?"

"What's a MOAB?"

"Stands for 'Mother Of All Bombs'. When it explodes, it creates a mushroom cloud that looks like a nuclear weapon went off. Most powerful non-nuclear device in the world. Well, unless you ask the Russians; they claim to have created one four times as powerful, the liars."

"Well, the Intersect didn't have anything about him being successful. About the only other thing of interest is that a couple of British agents were shadowing him in Zurich last summer, and he was also spotted in the Middle East. This guy gets around."

Walker said, "We can check in with MI6 to see what he was up to in Zurich, but I'm guessing it won't explain why he commissioned an attack on a classified CIA server. It certainly won't tell us how he got the intel on the machine in the first place."

"So, we're back to square one."

Casey said, "Looks that way."

Silence filled the room. The only noise was the hum of the two BD Security Enterprise computers and their monitors.

Agent Walker sighed. "Well, we'd better call in."

Casey grunted his agreement. This was not going to be fun.

**Scene LXIX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

The reaction of their superiors was predictable.

"You let him escape again?!" Director Graham grumbled.

Chuck stood between Sarah and Casey in front of the communication array. Even though he knew the director's ire wasn't aimed at him, the director's glare sure seemed to be because of where he was standing. For once, Chuck was happy his name wasn't being prominently mentioned in a briefing.

General Beckman shook her head. "I'm starting to think this assignment is eroding your skills, Agent Casey. And Agent Walker."

Casey grimaced while Sarah stiffened slightly.

The general continued, "By my count, the only one making any progress on this mission is Bartowski, and we didn't invest years of training and thousands of taxpayer dollars in him. Could one of the agents please recount what contributions actual government employees have made on this mission? Aside from losing one of the key witnesses, that is."

Chuck had been the subject of many backhanded compliments in his day, but that one was a beauty. Still, he preferred where he was at the moment. He stole a peek at both Casey and Sarah; both stood at attention with eyes locked forward, avoiding the glares of the brass by staring to the sides of the monitor.

After a pregnant pause, Director Graham said, "We'll send you any intel we have on Gomes, but you two better find a way to catch this guy, and soon." The director reached down to the computer and ended the transmission.

As the picture darkened, the shoulders of both Sarah and Casey slumped. Both turned away from Chuck and headed back to the table, reclaiming their chairs. Casey put the bag of ice back on his wound.

Chuck followed suit, dropping heavily into his chair. _Big Mike could learn a few things from the DoD brass about dressing people down_, he thought.

The room was silent for a few minutes as the agents recovered from the lecture. Chuck wanted to say something to alleviate the tension, but couldn't come up with anything appropriate.

Finally, Sarah rubbed her eyes and sat forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. "OK, so what do we know," she asked rhetorically. "We know Gomes seems desperate to get onto this server, so desperate that he risked an open attack outside what he must know to be a CIA facility. We know he has Davis, and probably can get him to talk. What's his next move?"

Casey tipped the chair forwards as he removed the ice pack, dropping it to the floor. The redness of the welt had subsided slightly. "Well, if it were me, the first thing I would do is to remove the transmitter. They would suspect that we would try to track the transmitter, so I could use it to trap some agents so I could negotiate a trade for Cushman."

Sarah gave him a bemused look. "How would that work?"

Casey backtracked, "Gah. You're right, that wouldn't work. They would have to know that we wouldn't make that trade, just as they will likely suspect that we've figured out the transmitter's existence at this point. That's useless."

Sarah stood up, pacing as she thought out loud. "So, they're left with Davis. They'll interrogate him, obviously; the question becomes whether he knows anything that will help them."

"It's Cushman's code. Can they do anything without him?"

Chuck said, "Cush built his code into a standalone application. If they can get their hands on that, they have a shot at cracking the server security."

"How would they get their hands on the code? We have their computers."

Chuck said, "But what we don't have is the back-ups."

**Scene L – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Cush sat furiously coding at his computer. A CIA IT technician was stretching a networking cable the entire length of the room to connect his computer to the Internet. He looked none too pleased about the situation.

While Cush and the technician worked, Chuck explained to the agents that BD Security, like many companies, backed up their computers via the Internet rather than using a network server. This avoided the need for an extra server in lieu of a monthly fee, with the added bonus that the back-ups could be accessed from anywhere. In this case, that feature was a problem. Cush had backed up his computer with the latest code, and Davis knew the password to access the back-ups.

However, in order to access the back-ups, Cush's computer needed to be connected to the Internet. As usual, the IT department refused to move quickly without a series of approved requisitions … or a direct call from an irate Director Graham. Again. Chuck had a sneaking suspicion that the CIA IT department would be in for a bit of personnel restructuring some time soon.

The CIA technician connected the cable, and borrowed the computer for a moment to verify the connection was live. He left after grabbing his bag, saying nothing to anyone as he left the room.

Cushman finished up a couple of last lines of code, giving an evil grin. Chuck couldn't resist looking over Cush's shoulder, and quickly shared in the grin.

Casey looked at Sarah impatiently; she signaled for Casey to stay calm. They would get their explanation in due time.

Cush set the time on his computer back a few days and quickly built the application using his development tools. Logging into the back-up site, he uploaded the application, and then quickly scanned the log. He breathed a sigh of relief, and sat back in his chair with a smile.

Chuck and Cush spoke quietly for a moment. At the end of the conversation, Chuck patted Cush on the shoulder and offered a smile before walking over to Sarah and Casey.

"We did it."

Casey's expression showed that he obviously wasn't used to waiting for answers. Through gritted teeth, he replied, "Did what, exactly."

"Cush retooled his code so that it will not break into any server. Not only that, his code will now basically send out a homing signal when it's activated. After he catches his breath, he'll put together a quick little app that will be notified the instant somebody activates the program and track their location."

"And what was the little grin about?"

"Cush put a bit of teeth into the code as well. It plants a virus on the machine, one that will slowly render the computer unusable. And if they happen to use email, it could infect any computer that opens a message, too."

"That's not bad for twenty minutes of work."

"I told you the guy was a genius. But it didn't hurt that he had a bunch of this code lying around; he's got quite a toolbox … "

"Bartowski, focus. What kind of fix can you get on their location?"

"Focus, right. Well, it depends. If they hack into a big corporate network, we may be out of luck. Otherwise, we should be able to get pretty close."

"OK. Walker and I need to get a couple teams out in the field in case your buddy hits pay dirt. We probably won't have much time once the address is found."

**Scene LI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

It had been a long, long day. Thirteen hours ago Chuck had briefed the DoD brass about what was going on. He didn't want to think about everything he had done since then.

He lifted his head off the conference room table and surveyed the room. Cush stared at his computer screen. The two agents guarding them stared at the door. Chuck stared off into space.

He was brutally tired, especially after struggling to sleep the previous night. He was even too tired to think about Sarah, despite being intrigued by what she might have said, had Casey not come barging in with his usual timing. All Chuck wanted was to crawl into bed, alone, and sleep until an Act of Congress forced him to wake up. He laid his head back down.

Right on cue, Cush let out an excited whoop. "I think we have a bite," he said.

Chuck willed himself out of his chair and across the room. Sure enough, the log files for the back-up showed somebody logging in under Davis' ID and password.

"Let's see if they take the bait," Chuck said.

Minutes passed, with the software on Cush's machine updating the log files every few seconds. Nothing changed. Chuck began to wonder whether they figured out that Cush had uploaded a new file.

Eventually, a log update revealed that the user had downloaded the executable named Gh0st.exe. They had taken the bait.

"YES!" Cush cried out. "I've got you now…"

Cush brought up the tracer application. The app patiently sat waiting for Gh0st to be executed, with the console repeatedly polling. The same message, "Gh0st application not active," printed over and over again.

"Gh0st application not active."

"Gh0st application not active."

"Gh0st application ACTIVE!"

The console went berserk as the tracer program kicked into high gear. Line after line of technical data scrolled by as Cush's code flew through the Internet to locate the host computer. The software had a lock in 23.2 seconds.

Chuck speed-dialed Sarah. "Gh0st is active. Tanner's Coffee Company, Playa Del Rey."

**Scene LII – Los Angeles, Street**

Sarah hung up the phone, and ordered the driver, "Playa Del Rey. I'll get you an address."

The driver, Agent Phillips, took a second to gain his bearings before pulling a sharp U-turn in the black sedan, barely avoiding clipping the rear of a minivan in the process. "Fifteen minutes, maybe less," he informed Sarah.

Sarah input the name of the coffee shop into the navigational system, and quickly relayed the address to Phillips. Now that they were moving, she thought through the locations of all the agents.

Her car was northwest of the city, putting Playa Del Rey almost due south of them. Two other agents were in a car northeast of the city. They were too far away to effectively contribute. Casey and Agent Thomas were southwest of the city, probably about the same distance away.

Sarah hesitated for the briefest of moments. After the tongue-lashing she got earlier that day, a part of her was tempted not to call in Casey in hopes of making the big score herself. However, her sense of professionalism quickly took over, and she called Casey.

"Casey here."

"Walker here. Got a hit: Playa Del Rey. 200 Culver Blvd."

"We're on it." Casey hung up before Sarah could say another word; she put her phone away with an irritated expression.

Across town, Casey turned to his driver. "Playa Del Rey, and move it."

He turned to face forward, annoyed that he could only stare forward and wait. He needed to get there before Walker.

**Scene LIII – Playa Del Rey, Tanner's Coffee Company, Parking Lot**

A black sedan sat parked at the end of a row of cars outside the coffee shop. The man in the driver's seat chose the spot because there was no spot in front of him, leaving him a pair of escape routes, should it become necessary. No point in taking chances.

He kept a careful watch, making slow movements to avoid attracting attention. "Are we in?" he asked, his bright green eyes scanning the lot for anyone approaching.

A man with dark, wavy hair and a thick Spanish accent answered, "No. And this thing must be a memory hog; the computer is slowing down in a hurry."

The driver allowed himself a moment to look longingly into the coffee shop. Customers lounged in couches in well-lit comfort, drinking tall cups of steaming hot coffee while reading magazines or books. He had stopped for coffee the other day in order to acquire the key for free wireless Internet access, and it was the best coffee he had tasted in a long time.

Still, he determinedly kept his focus, and started his scan of the surrounding area over again.

Minutes passed. The driver's mouth watered. This thing better finish in a hurry, or he was going lose the fight to stay in the car.

"Anything?" he asked irritably, looking at the other man via the rear-view mirror.

The computer operator shook his head. "The program looks like it's trying different things, but it seems like it's stuck in the mud." Frustrated, the man fussed with his email client as he waited.

The driver nervously checked the clock on the dashboard. It read 10:08. "Three more minutes, then we leave."

**Scene LIV – Los Angeles, Streets**

Sarah checked the dashboard clock. It read 10:08. "How long?" she asked the driver. She didn't yet know the streets of Los Angeles as well as she would like.

"Three minutes at the outside," the driver replied. They turned right from Lincoln Boulevard onto Jefferson Avenue.

A little over a mile away, Casey asked his driver the same question.

"Two, three minutes," he answered.

The car accelerated to catch the end of the yellow arrow, turning left off of Lincoln Boulevard onto Manchester Avenue.

Sarah tapped her fingers on her lap as the car waited at a red light to turn left onto Culver.

The light turned green. The car in front of her wouldn't move. She resisted the urge to reach across and honk the horn.

Finally, the car moved. They needed to get there before the suspects took off; this may be their last shot.

She checked her weapon for the umpteenth time. Yep, still loaded.

"Go, go, go," Casey urged.

Agent Thomas gunned the engine to make the right turn onto Pershing before the oncoming traffic cost them any time. A red BMW emitted an irritated honk as the sedan merged roughly ahead of it. Casey resisted the urge to take down the license number so he could hunt the person down later.

Unconsciously, Casey leaned forward as if he could will the car to move faster. They had to get to the scene before Walker.

He checked his weapon again. Yep, still loaded.

**Scene LV – Playa Del Rey, Tanner's Coffee Company, Parking Lot**

A black sedan sat parked at the end of a row of cars outside the parking lot. "Stop!" Casey commanded; the driver obliged. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it sure looked like the one from the CIA facility the other day.

"Be ready to pursue," he ordered the driver, and carefully turned off the car's overhead lights before slipping out the passenger door. Crouching down, he stole down the row of cars, carefully staying out of sight of anyone in the sedan.

He managed to get around the back of the car without being seen. _Excellent_, he thought. The driver's side window was open, and the driver seemed distracted, watching the store.

With a quick move, he leapt up and pointed a gun at the driver. "Put your hands on the steering wheel." Noting the lack of slicked-back hair, he added, "And if you have bright green eyes, it's gonna be a long night for you."

Agent Phillips put his hands on the steering wheel, and then he slowly turned his head. "I hope you're not propositioning me, Agent Casey."

With a disgusted expression, Casey holstered his weapon. He looked over at the coffee shop, where Agent Walker was leaving the store. Seeing Casey, she shook her head. There was nobody suspicious in the shop.

Casey seethed; they just couldn't catch a break on this mission. Something inside him snapped, and he suddenly needed to lash out. There was only one potential target.

He stormed over to Walker. "You did this on purpose," he said.

Walker obviously wasn't happy with his tone. "Did what, exactly?"

"You held me off for a few minutes so you could get here first. And look what happened. The suspect got away."

"Gomes must have hit you harder than you thought. I did no such thing."

"Baloney." He turned and walked away.

Walker wasn't letting him off that easy. "Baloney?! I called you as soon as I had the intel." Casey waved his hand at her as he walked past the sedan, clearly not buying it.

"Agent Casey," she called.

He turned around and crossed his arms.

She walked up to him as she pulled her phone from her back pocket. She called up the call log. "9:57 PM: call received, Bartowski, Chuck. 9:58 PM: number dialed, Casey, John." She showed him the phone.

Casey stood there facing the call log, looking for something to say. The previous call on the log was several hours prior. She was clearly telling the truth.

He had taken out his frustration on his partner. As it turned out, not only was it unwarranted, but she had proof to throw back in his face.

He grimaced. This wasn't his best moment as an agent. He stared back at her, trying to hide the guilt from showing.

Sarah stood there waiting. Part of him knew he should apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. And then, it was too late.

She added, "Well, I guess I know what would have happened if the positions were reversed." Caught by his own behavior, again Casey had no answer.

Sarah walked around the sedan. "I'll go back to the facility and finish up there. Why don't you go home and patch up that head of yours."

She got in the car, and tersely ordered, "Drive." The sedan sped off.

Casey planned to ratchet up the tension between Sarah and him, but not so soon. He knew that wasn't what had happened.

This wasn't the first time he had taken things out on a partner. After all, there was a reason he usually worked alone. Old habits, especially bad habits, died hard.

Without a word, he walked back to his sedan, and hopped in the passenger's seat. The sedan sped off into the night.


	14. Trust

**Scene LVI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

"Do you think they got them?" Cush asked nervously.

They sat around Cushman's computer, watching the log. The connection had been severed at 10:09; there was no attempt to re-establish the connection.

Chuck looked at the clock; it was now 10:21.

"Dunno," Chuck responded. "Depends where the cars were when they got the call."

Cush shook his head, second-guessing himself. "Maybe something in the dummy logs I wrote into the code tipped them off. Maybe I should have…"

Chuck cut him off, "Should have what? Been more creative with the logging in the twenty minutes you had?"

"Dunno. Something."

"It was your skill that gave us any shot in the first place. Anyone else would have been satisfied with removing the program from the archive." Chuck didn't add that, had that happened, Davis would likely be dead by now. Having some program to download might give the bad guys enough of a reason to keep Davis alive for a while longer. But it wouldn't do any good for Cush to think about that.

Cush was lost in thought, replaying what he had coded, step by step, line by line. Chuck decided to let him be. As Chuck got up, he put a comforting hand on Cush's shoulder, generating a forced smile before Cush went back to analyzing his work.

Chuck wandered aimlessly around the room for a few minutes. The silence became oppressive. He found himself checking the clock frequently, which only made the time pass slower. When he caught himself checking the clock for the second time in thirty seconds, he let out a resigned exhalation. He forced himself to sit at the center table, facing Cush.

To distract himself, he started to think about what would happen to Cush when all was said and done. The guy had attacked a CIA server, but seemingly had no idea about the purpose of that server. The latter part could be his saving grace. Still, Chuck had no idea what Director Graham would decide to do with him.

The real shame of it all is that Cush had real talent, but there was a good chance that any deal he struck could force him never to work in his profession again. That would truly be a loss.

He looked over at the two bored agents guarding the door, as much there to keep Chuck and Cush in the room as to keep anyone else out. The CIA's priorities seemed pretty messed up at times; he only hoped that tendency wouldn't come to haunt Cush in some way.

Cush was still working over his code; Chuck decided Cush had obsessed long enough. Chuck walked back over to his chair, and plopped down.

"So, what do you do with your spare time?"

Cush looked a bit sheepish. "Work on computers. Read about computers. Play with computers."

"C'mon, nothing else?"

"Well, I play a few games."

"Really? Ever play Call of Duty?"

Cush put on a falsely modest expression. "I've been known to dabble."

Chuck grinned. The two began an animated discussion that started with Call of Duty and quickly wandered to a various other subjects. Soon, Cush and Chuck were facing each other in their chairs, the quiet console on his screen not longer distracting either of them.

**Scene LVII – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Chuck and Cush were sharing a laugh when a knock came at the door. One of the agents called over, then signaled the pair to remain quiet. Flanking the door, hand on holster, the other agent challenged the person in the hallway. Apparently the answer the other person gave was correct; the agent relaxed and opened the door.

In strolled Sarah; Chuck didn't need to ask whether they had caught the suspects. While her face might have fooled somebody who didn't know her, Chuck could read her disappointment as she quietly gave some instructions to the two agents. He relayed the thought to Cush, who looked down despondently at the news.

Finished handing out orders, Sarah walked towards the pair. As she crossed the room, her expression shifted into her more usual demeanor; she was actually smiling by the time she addressed them.

"Sorry, guys, but there wasn't anyone at the coffee shop. Jeremy, are you certain you had the location right?"

Cush gave a nod. "Yep. I triple-checked the results."

"Unless they log back in for some reason, that's now probably a dead end. Keep your tracer application running just in case."

"So what happens next?" he asked.

Sarah gave him an understanding smile. "We're not sure, but we have a couple of ideas. Best thing for you right now is try to get some sleep."

Cush nodded again. "Maybe you're right."

Sarah added, "I've arranged to have you stay in nicer quarters tonight. You'll understand if we have to keep you locked up for another night; it's for your own protection as much as anything."

Cush clearly wasn't convinced. He looked over at Chuck for validation.

All things considered, it was probably the best offer Cush was going to get. "It's probably best for tonight," Chuck affirmed.

Cush was clearly more reassured after Chuck's assessment. "OK, Chuck."

Sarah said, "Agents Norris and Tomlinson will show you to your quarters." The two agents who had guarded the room stood a few steps behind Sarah, patiently waiting.

"Well, good night, Chuck."

"Good night, Cush."

The agent escorted Cush out of the room, but not before Cush shot Chuck one last big grin before walking out the door.

Chuck couldn't have stopped his answering smile if he wanted to. The door shut.

The two started walking towards the table. Sarah noted, "Wow, you two really hit it off."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. Kind of reminds me of me: caught up in things a bit beyond his control."

"Well, keep in mind that agents will play that card. Remember Laslo?"

"All too well. Point taken."

"Don't get me wrong; I think you're right about Jeremy. I'm not entirely sold on Davis yet, but I think your assessment of Cushman is pretty accurate." She paused for a moment. "You know, it's really impressive how you got him to trust you so quickly."

"Ah, it's nothing. As you said, we hit it off."

"It's not 'nothing', Chuck. Here the guy is in a CIA detention facility. Both Casey and I come in and ride him really hard, and he doesn't budge. He had good reason not to trust anyone coming through that door, but you're still a trusted friend inside three hours. That's impressive."

"I guess I don't see it that way."

"I do. So, what's your secret?"

"Well, see, my college roommate turned out to be rogue CIA, and he…"

She took a mock swipe at him, trying to control her grin. "Not that. Seriously, how'd you build up trust like that?"

"I don't know. I guess we just talked, and what was important to him was important to me, and we just bonded."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Well, in a way, maybe it is." He leaned forward in his chair. "I guess I believe that, at the end of the day, you should look out for what's important to other people. If you understand that, you know how to treat them well, and it will come back to benefit you. Sure, some people may take advantage, but many more won't."

Sarah mused over what Chuck was saying. He wondered about her interest.

After a moment, he asked, "So, what's going to happen to Cushman?"

She shook her head apologetically. "I don't know. That's above my pay grade."

"Any guesses?"

"Well, it may depend upon what's on that server. Director Graham is acting pretty … protective of it. If it's something serious…" She trailed off.

"What? If it's something serious, what?"

"Chuck, I won't lie: he could be in for a bad time of it."

The color faded from Chuck's face. "How bad a time?"

"Look, let's not worry about that now. We need to figure out what's next."

He couldn't help himself; he had to know about Cush's likely fate. "Sarah, that server? It is really serious stuff."

Sarah eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

Chuck was torn. He trusted Sarah, but if he told her, she would be obligated to report it in or lie to cover it up. Either outcome was bad. Unfortunately, Sarah was sharp enough that there was no going back.

"Chuck, how do you know that?"

He couldn't look her in the eyes. "I had a flash."

"What?! When?"

"The other night, while you were asleep in my room. Look, it didn't impact the mission, and I probably couldn't tell you the details anyway because you wouldn't have the clearance…"

"That's not the point. We have to report every flash you have. We're still trying to understand how your flashes are triggered."

"This flash is dangerous, Sarah. Graham didn't even want me to know the IP address of the server." He hesitated, knowing he had to trust her. "And I flashed on the entire core CIA network."

Sarah absorbed what he was telling her, carefully keeping a neutral expression. Finally, she shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We have to tell Graham."

Chuck took a moment to choose his words carefully. In a quiet tone, he said, "You just sat here and told me how bad it would be if Cushman only knows the one server. I know all of them. What would that mean for me if Graham ever found out?"

"It's different with you, Chuck."

"How? I'm not an agent. Neither Graham nor Beckman has any reason to protect me. What happens when they decide I'm more of a threat as a security risk?"

She leaned over and placed a hand on top of his. "That won't happen. Sure, you may not be an agent, but you've done your country a tremendous service. Look at what you've done in the past four months: saved a UN general, captured an elusive arms dealer, foiled a Fulcrum operation…"

"Well, you two were key components of all of those as well, and I saw how your superiors treated you two when one mission started to go badly."

She looked him directly in the eyes. "I understand your concern. I really do. You'll just have to trust me, Chuck. I'll look after you."

Once again, those magic words escaped her lips. The necklace around her neck winked back at him as it dangled from her neck, catching the overhead lights as it rocked back and forth. A quiet voice in the back of his mind suggested that blindly trusting her time after time was eventually going to lead him into trouble, but he pushed the voice aside. _In for a penny, in for a pound_, he thought.

He took a deep breath. "OK, Sarah. Do whatever you think is best."

She directed a dazzling smile at him. "You're doing the right thing."

There was a knock at the door. Before Chuck had even registered what the noise was, Sarah was on her feet, gun in hand.

**Scene LVIII – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah put a finger to her lips. Chuck was puzzled; she was certainly being cautious, considering they were in the middle of a CIA facility. She signaled for Chuck to take cover behind the center table. Chuck crouched down behind the table, wondering what good that would do if a bad guy were knocking at the door.

She took a position opposite the door, gun drawn. "Favorite fruit?" she asked. Quietly, she slid to the right, worried that she might be targeted by her voice.

"Purple apples in springtime," came the countersign.

Sarah was obviously still suspicious, but she slid to the door and jerked it open. One of the guards from the front desk stood there holding a large cardboard box. Seeing her gun, he asked, "A little jumpy, are we?" He handed her a clipboard to sign for the box.

"Can't be too careful. We weren't expecting anyone," she responded, not looking up until she finished checking the form. She handed the clipboard back to the guy. "Could you bring the box over to the table?"

Chuck stood up as the guard brought the box into the room. The guard gave him an amused look as he crossed the room, having seen him emerge from his cover. "I guess chivalry is dead."

His words rankled Chuck, but he tried to laugh it off. "Better chivalry than me, I guess." He felt worse when he realized how cowardly that made him sound.

The guard shook his head as he slid aside a few items so he could set the box on the corner of the table. With a last contemptuous glance, the guard made his way out of the room as Sarah made her way over to the table. She didn't seem to notice the guard's attitude.

Chuck sighed, then cursed as he broke his resolution yet again. The male versus female dynamic of the situation didn't bother him, but he had to admit he felt like a coward because he spent so much of their missions staying out of the way. He said as much to Sarah, who was pulling open the box to take a look inside.

Sarah was clearly distracted by the contents of the cardboard carton, but replied, "People don't understand your situation. They can't. There's no reason to take it personally."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure my skin is that thick."

Stepping around the table, Sarah began to rearrange some of the stacks of papers to make more room. "Help me clean off the table. We may need some room."

Chuck obliged, walking to the other side and starting to stack the notebooks and file folders. He couldn't get the security guard's disdain out of his head.

Interrupting his thoughts, Sarah asked, "How was your aikido class?"

He looked up, a guilty expression on his face. His pause told her plenty.

She said, "What, you didn't think Casey would tell me?" In the middle of her words, she shot him a quick glance. There was no mocking in her voice or her expression.

"You're not upset?"

Sarah shook her head. "It's admirable to want to be better at all aspects of your job. I'm just not sure it's the best use of your time."

"What do you mean?"

She dropped a heavy stack of papers onto another shorter stack at her corner of the table, and stopped organizing to marshal her thoughts. "Well, consider me. I'm not the best in the world with technology, but I could contribute better to missions like this one if I knew a lot more about computers. Say I dropped everything and started studying. How long do you think it would take for me to catch up to you?"

"A while," he admitted.

"Exactly. But I don't need to do that, because I have people like you working with me. Others fill that role."

Chuck considered what she had said, and found a flaw. "There is a difference. Your lack of computer knowledge won't get you killed in a fight."

"Maybe not, but that's why you have me. And Casey. And Agent Phillips, and Agent Norris, and the rest of the CIA. A big part of our role is to keep you safe. And if we can't do that, odds are good that what you learn in your class isn't going to be the difference."

Again, Chuck took a moment to consider her words. "So, are you saying you don't think I should go?"

"Not at all. Go if you enjoy the class. Go if it makes you feel more confident about yourself. But you shouldn't go because you feel you aren't contributing. And you certainly shouldn't go because you're embarrassed by staying out of the fighting. That's almost always going to be the right tactical decision, and that's what matters."

Chuck was silent for a long moment, gazing down at the table. What she said made too much sense, but his ego still struggled to accept it.

Sarah gave him a kind smile. "C'mon; this box has everything the cleaning crew found at the Grand Avenue office. Let's see if there's anything useful."

The smile helped; Chuck followed her over to the monitoring desk.

Sarah opened one of the bottom drawers, and pulled out four surgeon's gloves, handing two of them to Chuck. He raised an eyebrow as he snapped a glove onto one hand. "Dare I wonder why you have these in an interrogation room?" He extended two gloved fingers, managing to be outrageous, suggestive, and a little bit disgusting all at the same time.

Sarah fought to stay professional, but failed. She giggled despite herself. Chuck grinned; Sarah didn't giggle very often, but it was music to his ears.

As she walked back to the table, he snapped the other glove into place. "Excuse me, ma'am. Airport security." She turned to give him a semi-serious glance that said 'stay away from me'.

The two arrived back at the table. Sarah started pulling items from box and handing them to Chuck. The first few items were miscellaneous office supplies: a few pens, a stapler, some various sized paper clips, among other things. Sarah had Chuck group them together towards the edge of the table Chuck had cleared off; these were the low priority items, ones that might yield fingerprints but were otherwise of little use.

Next came several stacks of neatly printed stationery, with varying amounts in each stack. Stationery in the first stack carried the name "ThirdWay InfoTech", with the "third" in a standard blue font and the "way" in an italicized green font, leaning forward to connote motion. The second stack used "Draaipunt Shipping" in the header, with some words in a foreign language along the bottom edge – German? No; from the name, it was probably Dutch. The third stack had a comparatively plain layout for "Quality Construction".

"Huh," Chuck uttered. "All three share the address of the office we raided."

Sarah continued to sort through the box. "Yep, looks like ThirdWay and the others were just cover companies. This whole thing goes deeper than we ever thought."

Chuck set down the third stack next to the other two. He looked back and forth between the logos on the stationery, and developed a strange sensation: it was like he wanted to flash, but couldn't.

Puzzled, he stepped back for a moment to clear his head, and went back to look at the stationery again. ThirdWay. Draaipunt. Quality. The same sensation filled him; he couldn't quite flash.

"Everything OK?" Sarah asked.

"I'm not sure. Give me a second."

Chuck picked up a piece of each type of stationery, and stacked them. He fanned them out vertically, so he could see all three of the logos at the same time.

The flash came, but slowly.

A picture of a palm tree on a water-covered island.

A six-figure wire transfer, directed from ThirdWay InfoTech to Draaipunt Shipping.

A memo on the Draaipunt stationery, in Dutch. "Port of Los Angeles" and a berth was mentioned, in English, towards the bottom. Invoice # 96233548.

A receipt for delivery of invoice 96233548 to the Port of Los Angeles.

A routing slip for transportation of cargo to Quality Construction, 729 Lairport Street, in El Segundo.

A picture of the palm tree.

Chuck eyes refocused; he gasped. Wow, that one hurt.

He tried to lift his hands to his pulsing temples; only then did he realize that Sarah's hands were wrapped around one arm, helping to steady him. He looked over to see her concerned expression. She asked, "Are you all right?"

Chuck let her help guide him to a nearby chair. "I think so. That was a weird one."

"It certainly was a long one. You flashed for over a minute."

Chuck glanced at her disbelievingly. "Really?"

She knelt down next to the chair. "Was there anything else different about that flash?"

Chuck tried to remember what he could about the flash; the pain had receded to a dull ache. "Yeah," he paused. "I think I flashed on the names of all three companies."

"That is different. What do you think it means?"

He tried to think of himself not as a person, but as a computer. An analogy came to him, "At first, it was like my mind wanted to flash, but couldn't. Kind of like when you want to sneeze, but it just won't happen."

"Then, I put the three names together … and it's like I searched on a compound index."

"Sorry, you lost me."

He leaned forward slightly as he explained. "Before, when I flashed, I would flash on one visual cue or one name, and that would lead me to an encoded imagee. This time, maybe there were multiple pictures out there, but I couldn't pick one until I used all three names to narrow it down to one."

Sarah took a minute to wrap her head around that. "So, there may be more intel on these front companies in there, but you can't get at it yet?"

"Dunno. That's just a guess." He thought for a moment. "Another possibility is that there wasn't a strong enough trigger with just one name, but with all three I could access the image."

A shocking thought occurred to him. "It's possible I needed more than one trigger because my memory of the Intersect images is starting to fade." He wasn't sure whether his expression was horrified or hopeful. Maybe it was both.

**Scene LIX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Chuck stared helplessly at Sarah. At the beginning of all of this, his fondest hope had been for the images to somehow vanish from his mind. But as time had gone on, more and more he didn't want the images to go away. If the images went away, Sarah would go away as well. And now that he was slowly regaining hope that something might happen…

Sarah immediately assumed the calming smile she always did when he was freaking out. From her kneeling position, she took his hand in hers, although the gloves stole away any true intimacy. At least she wouldn't feel the sweat on his palms of his hands.

She said, "There's no reason to worry. It's just as likely that this is something good as something bad; we'll figure it out."

As always, the way she spoke helped to calm him down, especially since there was an unspoken 'together' at the end of what she said. Still, he couldn't banish the gnawing pangs of worry in the pit of his stomach.

She changed gears. "What was in the flash, Chuck? Anything that can help us?"

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. "ThirdWay purchased shipping services from Draaipunt. I couldn't read the shipping manifest; it was in Dutch, but whatever was shipped was sent to L.A. Once here, it was transported by the docking authority to 729 Lairport Street in El Segundo."

Sarah's face lit up. "Chuck, that's gotta be them. El Segundo is just a few miles from Playa Del Rey, but far enough away that they wouldn't tip off their location by using the Internet at the coffee shop. They were being careful, but not too careful."

She practically leapt to her feet, pulling her cell phone out and dialing a programmed number. She flashed him a huge grin before turning and walking across the room. "Walker here. I need Agents Phillips and Norris outside with a surveillance unit inside fifteen minutes. I also need any intel you can give me on 729 Lairport Street in El Segundo, as well as the area around it in a three-block radius. Walker out."

By the time she had hung up, she was already by the exit. "Finish going through the box; see if you can trigger any other flashes. If there's nothing else, call the front desk to have an agent escort you out. I'll leave word. Oh, and don't answer the door. Anyone who should be here will have a key."

Chuck felt like he was a babysitter being given instructions by a parent.

She grabbed hold of the door handle. "I feel like I've been saying this a lot lately, but nice work, Chuck." She smiled. Chuck barely had time to return the smile as she pulled the door open and left the room. He heard the lock turn after the door was closed.

"Wow, that happened fast."

Chuck stood up slowly, testing out his head. He was definitely feeling better, but he could really use some aspirin and some water. Unfortunately, he didn't think the front desk guards would take too kindly to delivering room service.

He spent the next half hour going through the box. It was mostly office supplies; there were a few business cards from other companies, likely ones the various front companies interacted with. He didn't flash on any of the names on the cards.

He organized things as best he could on the table, then pulled out his iPhone to call the front desk. The screen was blank.

"What the …?"

He tried turning the phone on, but it only came up far enough to tell him that his battery was dead before shutting itself off.

Chuck looked around the room in horror. There were no other phones; even if there were, he doubted if he could remember the number he needed to call.

All he wanted to do was to crawl into bed … and unless Sarah came back, that wasn't happening.

**Scene LX – Casey's apartment**

Casey's apartment was filled with the sound of Sinatra. Some times, you just needed to hear from the Chairman of the Board.

_It happened in Monterrey_

_A long time ago_

_I met her in Monterrey_

_In old Mexico…_

Sinatra likely would have approved of the neat scotch Casey was drinking. He wasn't heading towards getting soused, but a glass or two took some of the sting out of the day.

Plopping down in his leather chair, Casey enjoyed one of the few comforts in his surveillance pad while savoring the big band backing up Sinatra's mellow voice. He voiced a contented sigh; that contentment was short-lived as he forced himself to assess the status of his assignment.

He thought he was being clever by laying the groundwork for the inevitable order that Chuck was to be terminated. Some of that was working, and working well.

Keeping Sarah a little off-balance was ridiculously easy: she was overprotective of Chuck to a fault, especially since she'd started bottling up her feelings for him. Those buttons were easy to push.

But tonight had certainly backfired. He was eager to get to the scene before Sarah was because the first agent there would likely make the capture, and that meant getting the credit in the eyes of their superiors. If Sarah got that credit and Casey were taken down a notch, things might be more difficult later if Casey needed the superiors to overrule one of Sarah's opinions. Any little edge could make the difference, and he was determined to have every edge he could get when the time came.

He had to admit that he didn't relish the idea of going head-to-head with Agent Walker. She was a capable opponent, getting the upper hand in the only combat the two had against each other. Of course, he had underestimated her at the time; he wouldn't make that mistake again. Since then she had proven to be a more than capable partner as well.

Casey never thought he'd enjoy working with a skirt, especially a CIA skirt. He could see why her agency considered her among their best agents; even Casey typically had trouble discerning any flaws with her performance. About the only chink in her armor seemed to be her inexplicable attraction to Chuck.

The guy was nice enough. Casey would even admit that he'd like to believe more of the schlubs he protected in the line of duty were like Chuck. And had somebody told him three months ago that the scrawny computer geek would have contributed at all, let alone display the stones to make a real difference, Casey would have laughed until his ribs ached. But for somebody like Walker to be attracted to him?

Best he could figure, Sarah was just used to being around a certain type of man: ego-driven, self-involved, and all-consumed with their jobs. From that perspective, maybe her attraction was based upon a grass-is-greener view of characteristics like innocence and honesty, along with a longing for a "normal" life. Or maybe he was right and it was just Bryce Larkin all over again: mistaking a partner relationship for something more.

Either way, it was a mystery; one he didn't particularly need, or want, to solve.

What he really wanted was another shot at the greaser who nailed him with the head butt and the green-eyed goon who got away with pointing a gun at his head. He had scores to settle with both of them.

He allowed himself a few moments envisioning how a repeat meeting might go with the two of them. However, as time passed, he realized he was still dodging the real issue he needed to face: the irrational accusations he had hurled at Sarah earlier that night. He had lost control, something he had promised himself he would never do again.

People had a way of developing reputations in the small pools within the intelligence community. Casey was perfectly aware of his: a burnout, a loose cannon, and a cold-blooded killer.

The last he accepted with pride. Killing was a perfectly valid and useful skill in their line of work, and he was one of the best. Nobody debated that.

What people would debate is how good an agent he is. Certainly, nobody in the NSA wanted to be his partner because of his record with previous partners.

When Beckman had permanently assigned him to the Chuck detail, he had to wonder if part of her motivation was to put him in a situation where his other skills would take on more importance. That would give her a chance to evaluate Casey's continued employment with the agency.

In Casey's situation, that took on particular importance. Cold school killers weren't put out to pasture. They were shot behind the barn. That way, they couldn't hurt anyone else.

Ol' Blue Eyes seemed to be in rare form tonight. Casey took another sip of scotch, and tried to figure out when things got so complicated.


	15. I Have to Say It Was a Good Day

**Scene LXI – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse**

Agents Norris, Phillips, and Walker were parallel-parked in their black surveillance van on Maple Avenue, about a block and a half away from the suspected site of Gomes and his cell. Norris and Phillips were monitoring the various electronic devices. Sarah was continuing to familiarize herself with the intelligence gathered on both Gomes and the property in question, as well as meticulously documenting their activities and findings to that point.

729 Lairport Street had turned out to be a small, unmarked warehouse with yellow-green metal siding. Tucked amidst of sea of other warehouses, its location seemed ideal for a base of operations: two highways, the 105 and 405, were in close proximity, as was the airport.

What also made it a logical hideout was that there was no good place to set up surveillance. The front of the building was protected by a strip of greenery, including several trees that obscured every view of the front entrance.

Lairport Street was a two-lane road close to the front of the warehouse, which meant parking on the street outside was too obvious and would be noticed immediately. Several buildings surrounded the warehouse in close proximity, again limiting views of the building, and the blacktop area around the sides and back of the building was largely covered with junk and beaten-up shipping containers.

She had to admit that their adversaries had chosen well. However, as another adversary had once said, this wasn't the agents' first time.

Decked out in black action gear, Sarah broke into the warehouse across the street and mounted three cameras in windows facing the suspected hideout. The first pointed at the front entrance. The second covered the sole entrance to the parking lots, and would allow them to capture the license plates and vehicle types of anyone coming or going. The final camera, set in a vent near the roofline, was able to capture footage of the fenced blacktop area on the opposite side of the warehouse. The cameras were likely to escape notice for the time they needed them.

The plain black surveillance van performed a pair of drive-bys, suitably staggered as if the van had proceeded down the street for a delivery, and returned afterwards. On each pass, hidden cameras on the sides of the vans captured footage of the property.

The team parked and examined the infrared video after each drive-by to see if any security measures could be detected. Nothing was evident, but mercury lights on the four corners of the building may have prevented the night vision from capturing any fixtures mounted near them. Plus, there were far too many places where a well-defended sentry with a weapon could be posted.

They couldn't risk a breach at this time. The team would need to monitor the site using the cameras to see if they could locate any sentries changing shifts. They would also need to wait until daylight to perform another pair of sweeps with the van, and an additional one using cameras mounted on an agent's clothes as he walked by.

Sarah sighed impatiently and checked her watch. It was just after 5:00 am, but the streets were as dark as they were several hours before. There would be enough daylight to make the next van passes around 8:00. However, unless there was a lot of pedestrian foot traffic, the pass with an agent couldn't happen until 9:00 at the earliest. There was too much risk a pedestrian would stand out if it was done too early. 9:00 am was a long way away.

She idly wondered why she hadn't heard back from Chuck; she expected he would call her with either a positive or negative report. Not wanting to wake him, she had two options: call Casey, whom she didn't mind waking, or call the front desk at the CIA facility. Given her confrontation with Casey the previous night, it was an easy decision.

A guard picked up after two rings. "Security."

"Agent Walker here. Was badge #1528 escorted out last night?"

There was a pause and a rustling of papers. "Negative. Badge #1528 was not escorted out, nor was the badge returned to the desk."

Sarah gave a worried frown. "OK, I'm en route. Please confirm visitor is still present in Interrogation Suite 3-Bravo; call me back on this number." She hung up.

That didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't he leave? It was easy to tell he was exhausted all the previous day; she would have expected him to be home in bed hours ago.

She quickly gave Norris and Phillips some basic orders about maintaining their watch and, after a quick scan of the street, hopped out of the van and into her Porsche. She used her trip as an opportunity to find the quickest route back to the 405; one never knew when knowing an escape route would come in handy.

Opening up the engine on the on-ramp, a small smile escaped her lips as the acceleration pushed her deeper into the seat. Reluctantly, she let off the gas as she merged onto the freeway; no point in attracting the attention of a bored traffic cop.

Her phone rang. "Walker here."

"Security. Visitor is still in Interrogation Suite 3-Bravo."

"What was he doing?"

"He's sleeping, ma'am."

Sarah gave a bit of a sigh. She hadn't realized just how tense she had become while worrying about him.

"Roger that. Thanks for the assistance." She hung up.

**Scene LXII – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah unlocked the door from the hallway, rationally knowing that Chuck was safe inside. Despite having assurances he was just napping, she was still unable to shake the thought that something might have happened. She opened the door.

Sure enough, Chuck reclined in one of the leather chairs, his feet extended to another chair across from him. He had switched off several banks of lights, leaving only the one at the opposite end of the room on. He looked peaceful; she really didn't want to disturb him.

She shut the door, locking it out of habit, and began to move across the room towards him. Why had he stayed here? All he had to do was call the front desk, and he had the number.

His cell phone lay on the table near him, the display blank. It didn't take an agent to solve this one; his battery must be dead.

_Oh, Chuck_, she thought. Some times it was hard to remember that he wasn't an agent. An agent knew that a dead cell phone battery could mean, well, a dead agent.

At the same time, Sarah felt a little guilty for not taking better care of her asset. She had rushed out of the agency so quickly for the other mission that she never took the time to ensure the team had him protected. There was no guarantee they would have caught the dead battery, but still.

Her eyes scanned his face as she knelt down next to his chair, slowly tracing its lines and curves. She was trained to memorize every last detail of another person's face in a glance, but something about his was … elusive, almost slippery. Rarely did she have the chance to observe him without giving him the wrong idea.

She frowned. Hadn't she been trying to find the right moment to show Chuck how she felt?

_Poor Chuck_, she thought to herself. If she didn't instinctively know what the right idea had been, he certainly couldn't have known. She wondered how often she had sent out mixed signals without even recognizing them.

Part agent. Part asset. Part wonderful, wonderful man. All three needed her protection. However, as yesterday had shown, she couldn't protect him if her feelings got in the way.

Stakeouts give an agent too much time to think. There is plenty of down-time for the mind to wander; she had revisited the time in the office suite.

When Gomes locked her in the dark room, she became helpless, frozen by the thought of what might be happening to Chuck. Her most valuable instincts as an agent were suddenly unavailable to her, and she found herself unable to act.

Maybe she could have helped, and maybe not, but she realized that she certainly wasn't protecting Chuck to the best of her abilities. He could have died because her emotions had paralyzed her. Her eyes glistened ever so slightly.

So, in the dark of the night, she had decided to switch directions yet again. This time, it was final. Nothing would happen with Chuck while they worked together; she was sworn to protect him, and couldn't do so if her emotions got in the way.

The only saving grace was that she realized what a mistake it would be before anything happened.

His words from the other night resonated in her head: "You protect me in your world, so I'll protect you in mine." She stared at him as she resolved to uphold her end of that bargain, no matter what the cost. She wiped her eyes dry, attempting to calm herself before awakening him.

Sarah allowed herself one last tour of his features before she put a hand on his leg and shook him gently. Hopefully he wouldn't feel as though she abandoned him earlier that night. "Chuck," she called softly. "Chuck."

He stirred sleepily, but didn't fully awaken. "Chuck," she called again, a little louder.

His eyes slowly opened, searching for the source of the voice. When he was finally able to focus on her, his face crinkled into a smile. _Oh, no_, she thought. _Please don't smile at me so sweetly._

"Hi," he said, stretching.

The glistening in the bottom of her eyes was back, joined by an answering smile she couldn't stop. "Hi," she replied, a bit huskily.

His smile vanished. In a concerned tone, he asked, "Are you OK?"

She nodded, and forced her smile to stay in place. "Just a bit tired."

Standing up, she managed to steal an opportunity to clear a bit of the moisture from her eyes. She looked back at him. "Let's get you home."

**Scene LXIII – Buy More**

Chuck wandered into a world he didn't understand.

As soon as the automated doors shut behind him, he knew something wasn't right. Maybe it was the lack of laughter from the employees. Maybe it was that the home theater room was dark.

Or maybe it was that Morgan, Jeff and Lester were all hard at work.

Morgan was really working on a guy over by the refrigerators. Not his area of specialty, if Morgan managed to sell one, it would be his first.

Lester and Jeff were manning the Nerd Herd desk. Lester was on the phone with a customer, and seemed to be laughing politely rather than his usual sardonic self. Jeff looked, well, clean and sober. He was pleasantly interacting with a elderly woman who was clearly having trouble understanding the finer points of operating her iPod, such as turning it off or selecting a song.

He was baffled. What was next, Big Mike leaving his office before his lunch break?

"Chuck!" Big Mike called as he approached with a big smile and a bigger coffee mug.

_OK, this is just getting weird_.

"I don't know what you did, but you actually got these numbskulls to do their job. What's your secret?"

"Don't know. Know your employees, I guess."

"You know, that seems like a lot of effort. I think I'll let you take on that responsibility."

"Does that mean I get the assistant manager position?"

"God, no. I'm just letting you take on the responsibility. But keep it up and I might spring for a Fresca. Maybe even a 20-ouncer."

Chuck's brow furrowed. "Out of curiosity, how would you describe your management style? 'Carrot-or-the-stick'? 'Stick-or-the-stick'?"

"I'd have to say 'stick-or-my-foot-up-your-ass'."

"So you're an empathetic manager."

Big Mike's smile vanished in a hurry. "Watch it, Bartowski. You just got back on my good side."

"Yes, sir."

The smile was back as quickly as it had disappeared. "Keep up the good work!" Big Mike toasted Chuck with his coffee mug before heading off in the direction of his office, interacting genially with a pair of green shirts along the way. Chuck could only shake his head.

An excited Morgan intercepted Chuck on his way to the Nerd Herd desk. "Chuck, I just sold a top-of-the-line refrigerator. With full warranty." The pair kept moving, Morgan walking backwards, as they talked.

"That's great! First frig sale for you in forever, right?"

"Second. I sold another one earlier today."

Chuck was genuinely impressed. "Wow, you're on a roll. What inspired you?"

"You know, it's all thanks to those patches that Ellie scored from the hospital." He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a small, circular orange-brown patch. "I've been as clear-headed as I've been in forever, now that the nicotine is out of my system."

"Really."

"Sure. I've gotten my energy back, my creative juices have been flowing…"

"Your creative juices?"

The two arrived at the Nerd Herd desk just as Jeff finished up with his customer. Chuck noticed the old lady walked away with a smile on her face. This truly was a day for the books.

Morgan continued, "Yeah, I started writing music again. Me and my man Jeff here are thinking about forming a rap group."

"A what?"

Jeff smirked, "A rap group." He spread his hands out in front of him to highlight the name as he said it: "The Notorious JMG".

Chuck, puzzled, looked at the pair. "What does the 'JMG' stand for?"

Morgan answered, "'Jeff'. And 'Morgan Grimes'."

Lester leaned over. "Why does Jeff only get one initial?"

Jeff suddenly looked a little upset. "Yeah, why does Jeff only get one initial?"

Morgan rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. "Because his initial comes first. Only fair way to do it."

Jeff looked unconvinced.

Morgan said, "C'mon, you have to admit it sounds better than 'The Notorious MJ'. Look, the name isn't important. We can call ourselves 'Terrifyin' Monkey' for all I care. At the end of the day, it's about the music."

Chuck gave a low chuckle. Morgan was already acting like a prima donna, and they hadn't even decided on a name. All in all, he was too amused by the whole thing to let it go. "Since when do you two rap?"

Morgan replied, "I've got the soul of a rapper."

Lester interjected, "Trapped in the body of a leprechaun. All that's missing is a tam'o'shanter and a box of Lucky Charms. Can't figure out the pot of gold though..."

Morgan said, "Ha ha. Doubt all you want." Turning back to Chuck, he asked, "Want me to break off a little something for you?"

Chuck replied, "Oh, this I gotta see."

"Hit it, Jeff."

Jeff started an arrhythmic beat-box; Chuck was faintly disgusted by the amount of spit he cast into the air. Morgan kept waiting for the right moment to start, but either the off-cadence of the beat box or his lack of timing kept him from jumping in right away. Finally, he made his move.

"Chuck Bartowski

Should be on the TV

Kicked out of Stanford

Moved back in with El-lie

Works at the Buy More

'leven buck an hour

Didn't think he'd end up there,

Dontcha know that

In walks Sarah

Way beyond compare-a

Brought there by fate

they go on a date…"

Chuck cut them off. "Wow, that's not entirely terrible. You guys practicing at all?"

Jeff responded, "Not really. We expect to get by on our talent and our looks."

"Yeah, that might work." Desperately searching for a way out, he picked up the Nerd Herd job clipboard. He became confused as he looked at the board, flipping through the first few pages. "Does one of you guys have the first page to the job list? I can't seem to find it."

Lester, not looking up from his computer, said, "That's a new one I printed out this morning; that one's up-to-date."

Chuck flipped the first page up and down as he tried to reconcile what he remembered being on the list yesterday with what was there today. A thought slowly dawned on him. "You two knocked out all those jobs?! Nice work, guys!"

"With help from me," Anna said. She stood behind Morgan, arms folded, directing an annoyed stare at Chuck. She walked up, her cross expression replaced with a smile when Morgan turned to look at her. "Hi, sweetie," she said.

She planted a kiss on Morgan's cheek and then kept walking, the same cross expression returning when she turned away from Morgan to face Chuck. She strutted right past him.

Chuck's brow furrowed; he never did figure out what exactly got her ticked off. He handed the clip board to Morgan and said, "Excuse me a minute." He took off after Anna.

**Scene LXIV – Buy More**

Chuck caught up to Anna as she headed towards the back of the store. "Anna. Hey, wait up."

She stopped, and turned back to face Chuck, arms crossed. Her expression hadn't gotten any friendlier.

Chuck asked, "You got a sec?"

Anna looked as though she sorted through a few more flippant responses before settling on a slightly aggressive, "Sure."

Chuck led her into the dark home theater room, flipping on the lights and shutting the doors. Anna waited, not-so-patiently, in the center of the room.

Satisfied nobody could overhear, Chuck walked up to her and asked, "OK, so what is this all about?"

"What is what all about?"

"The cold shoulder. The icy attitude. I never thought of us as best buds, but this seems a bit extreme."

"Is it? Is it extreme for somebody who's trying to steal away my boyfriend?"

Chuck's brow furrowed; he babbled in disbelief. "Who's trying to do what now?"

"Don't play dumb. You're trying to get Morgan back together with Ellie."

Chuck felt a little relief, but was still baffled. "What in the world would I do that for?"

"I don't know. Maybe so you two could see even more of each other at the holidays. Maybe you don't like Devon. But I'm tired of see you push him into Ellie's arms."

"First of all, Morgan already sees all of me he wants to. He shows up at my place uninvited half the time. And Devon? I love him like a frat brother." He paused. "That overly talkative, cocky frat brother whose passion for extreme sports is only matched by his passion for domestic chores, but still."

Anna wasn't the least bit convinced.

Chuck said, "Let's back up a step. When did I push Morgan towards Ellie?"

"When you had her get those special nicotine patches that only a doctor can obtain. She'd have to break the law to give those to Morgan. Are you really going to sit here and tell me she'd do that for a guy unless she had strong feelings for him?"

Of course. Now it was starting to come into focus. "Anna, the 'patches' that Ellie gave Morgan? They're just Band-aids. Morgan was taking the whole cigarette addiction thing so seriously that he kept making it worse: ODing on nicotine patches, chewing nicotine gum. She helped give him a placebo, and only because I asked her to."

A faint bit of hope shone in Anna's eyes. "The patches are … fakes?"

"Completely. And so you know, Ellie's eyes nearly rolled all the way to the back of her head when I asked her to do me the favor. We're talking exorcist-style roll-back; all that was missing was the head spinning around."

The scowl faded, replaced by a hopeful smile. "So you were just taking care of him."

Chuck shrugged. "Of course. That's what friends do for each other."

She crooked a finger at Chuck. He leaned forward, and she gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you," she said.

"Tsk tsk tsk," came Casey's voice. He stood by the now-open door to the room, wearing his customary green Buy More shirt and khakis. "What would Sarah say?"

Anna, knowing Casey would be there for Chuck and not for her, headed for the door. "Probably 'Can't blame you. I can't keep my hands off him either.'" She flashed a smile back at Chuck before she exited the room.

Casey shook his head as he let the door shut behind her. "I'm thinking more like, 'I can't keep my lunch down at the thought either.'"

Chuck was in too good a mood to banter. "So, what's going on with the mission?"

Casey shrugged, "I have no idea. I was going to ask you."

"What?! How can you have no idea?"

Casey managed to look a bit sheepish. It wasn't a good look for him.

"C'mon, Casey, what's up?"

"Well, you remember around Christmas, when I laid into you for no good reason?"

"Yeah, it's pretty much seared into my brain. Why?"

Casey held his arms out like his point was obvious.

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "You laid into Sarah for no good reason?"

"I thought I had good reason. Turns out I was just paranoid."

"You know, at some point you might find that extending a little trust goes a long way."

"People who extend trust in my line of work tend to end up very dead."

"Even between partners?"

Casey looked like a man in unfamiliar territory.

Chuck processed everything for a minute. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it."

"Sure. Why worry while I'm sitting here on the bench while she's off getting all the glory."

"I've been on Sarah's wrong side on things like this before. When it's time for action, she'll call you in."

"I'm not so sure about that. I went pretty overboard."

"Yeah, well, Sarah's a pretty forgiving sort. Trust me; she'll call."

Right on cue, Casey's phone rang. Chuck's grin grew bigger; that kind of timing was something one dreamed about. The way things were going, he might even end up with Sarah by the end of the day.

Casey looked at the caller ID as if he couldn't believe it. He answered, "Casey here."

Sarah was sitting in the security van, looking at the surveillance cameras. "I'm watching a mutual friend of ours enter a warehouse over by the airport."

Casey's eyes lit up. "Greasy hair? Weaselly little grin?"

Sarah's grin turned a little evil. "And he was walking with a man with bright green eyes."

Casey looked like he might actually start drooling.

Sarah continued, "I think it's high time we paid these two a visit, don't you?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Well, get here quick. The action's about to begin. Chuck can give you the address." She hung up.

An invigorated Casey ordered, "C'mon, Chuck," as he dashed from the room. Chuck quickly followed, racing past surprised store patrons as he tried to catch up to Casey.


	16. Cornered

**Scene LXV – El Segundo, Maple Avenue, Surveillance Van**

Sarah waited impatiently inside the van. She was taking a bit of a chance calling in Casey, as it delayed the attack on the facility. However, something Chuck had said last night had stuck with her: _If you look out for what's important to other people and try to treat them well, it will come back to benefit you._

After the way Casey treated her outside the coffee shop, she certainly didn't owe Casey anything. Heck, it was almost expected for an agent to pad his resume by grabbing glory when offered the opportunity. But she had promised herself she would do all she could to protect Chuck, and if that meant becoming a better partner with Casey, so be it.

"C'mon, Casey," she muttered under her breath. Agents Norris and Phillips were chafing at the bit to begin the attack; she wouldn't be able to hold them off much longer.

The Herder screeched to a halt behind the van. Looking out the window, she saw Casey jump out of Herder and sprint up to the van. He noticeably relaxed when he saw the agents inside, and pulled the door open.

The open door afforded Sarah a full view of Chuck awkwardly spilling out of the passenger door onto his knees, subsequently bending over to kiss the ground. She wasn't sure if he was being completely sarcastic or not, but either way it made her smile. Chuck managed to keep his sense of humor intact in most situations, which was pretty impressive given some of the situations he had been thrown into recently.

Sarah noticed that Casey hadn't changed out of his Buy More uniform. "Um, Casey?"

"I know, I know. We took Chuck's car into work, and I didn't have a change of clothes with me."

Her mind worked quickly. "Well, if we can't get rid of your Buy More clothes…"

**Scene LXVI – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Front Room**

Aldo Jimenez thumbed through a dog-eared copy of El Mundo, a newspaper from his native city of Caracas. Even though it was a week old, he had been stationed in Los Angeles for so long that any taste of home was a good thing.

A tone indicated that a sensor picked up on somebody approaching the area near the front entrance. He lowered the paper to watch the door, his eyes flickering down to ensure his gun sat within reach in its cubby on the desk. Pedestrians were rare on this street, so he was relatively alert when the man in the green Buy More shirt walked in carrying a clipboard. Jimenez set the paper down, leaning forward so that his hand was near the gun.

"Excuse me," the imposing man offered. "I'm looking for 733 Lairport Street."

Aldo's hand relaxed. It was just a drone from one of the ubiquitous big box stores littering Los Angeles. In a fairly thick accent, Aldo replied, "Sorry. This is 729."

The man gave a rueful smile as he checked the clipboard again. "And the place up the street is 745. Some jerk has been phoning in false assignments all week."

Aldo really didn't care about the sob story. What he did care about was the man's eyes flickered up and left, and then up and right, as if scanning the room. His eyes widened.

The front of the clipboard raised up, and the last thing he saw was the gun the man had hidden there.

Casey's second shot took out the camera mounted in the back right corner of the room; the only noise was the sound of air hissing through the silencer. He yanked the rolling office chair with the body into the back left corner; this allowed him to cover the two interior doors to the room. He figured they had less than thirty seconds before somebody truly panicked that the camera was out. "Secure," he whispered into the mic.

"Still clear," Chuck's voice came through his ear piece; he was monitoring the outside of the building from the safety of the van.

The tone sounded three times. Within ten seconds, the other three agents rushed through the front door, taking standard positions to defend the two doors. The three were wearing relatively dark but casual clothes; Casey definitely stood out in his Buy More gear.

Sarah assessed the situation, then started giving hand signals to the other agents. Casey had gladly ceded command to Sarah on this one. Not only did she have a better knowledge of the reconnaissance on the facility, but he knew he would be distracted by a flash of bright green eyes or a glimpse of slicked-back black hair.

By Sarah's command, Agent Phillips assumed Casey's position; he was to stay and defend this room for the time being. Casey slid over towards the door on the back wall. Sarah gave a silent count, and then yanked the door open quickly. Casey scanned right with his gun, then center, while Sarah scanned left with her piece. With the way clear, the three agents proceeded through the door one by one as they established defensive positions in the next room.

The three agents held their defensive positions while they scrutinized the layout of the next space. A pair of folding tables with chairs flanked a closed door on the right wall, each holding a computer, a Bezier screen-saver flickering in the dimly lit space.

The wall to their left had become an impromptu bulletin board, with articles from Spanish newspapers and magazines crudely taped to the walls, interspersed with glossy photos of scantily clad Hispanic women.

At the far end, a chain link fence closed off the warehouse area beyond; a doorway-shaped gate in the center of the fence stood open.

The agents listened for a moment. Aside from the occasional creaking and scraping of the building, there was little sound.

Sarah detected a slight odor of decay in the air, as if trash had been left so long that only the remnants of the smell truly remained. The dirty floor had obviously been swept recently, but it needed far more than that.

Off in the distance, a pair of voices spoke in Spanish. Their footsteps drew closer as they approached the area beyond the gate.

The two men looked to Sarah. Thinking quickly, she sent a flurry of hand signals to the other agents. The three scurried into action. The two men crouched in the corners near the fence; the five-foot lips of the wall meeting the chain link provided some basic cover.

Sarah took the only remaining cover in the room; she pulled the door they had entered through most of the way open.

Two Hispanic men with medium builds came through the open gate, using their hands to talk animatedly. As best she could decipher their rapid Spanish, the pair was discussing a recent soccer match between the teams the two men supported. Casey and Phillips quietly crept out from their hiding spots after the pair passed, shadowing the two.

About halfway into the room, the man on the left noticed that the front door was open. "What is this?" he asked. The two looked at each other, then pulled guns from their belts.

Casey and Norris each struck a man in the head with the butts of their pistols. The two men fell to the ground, unconscious, their guns clattering loudly as they struck the floor.

Sarah leapt from her hiding spot, running to the closed door. Crouching down, she examined the dark space between the door and the floor, running a finger along it to confirm no light was being blocked by material she couldn't see. The room beyond was dark.

Giving a quick pair of hand signals to the others, she stood up and gently turned the knob. The door was unlocked; she carefully pushed it into the dark room beyond, gun drawn.

She had trouble seeing into the darkness, so she pushed a sequence of three buttons on her watch. The display beamed a bright light into the room; she scanned the room as if it were a flashlight.

The five-foot square space was more a closet than a room. Cleaning supplies were haphazardly lined up along one wall; a pile of rags, some of them dirty and some of them apparently bloody, sat in the far corner.

Casey and Norris dragged their two victims in the room using a fireman's carry, laying them face down against the far wall. They threw a pair of handcuffs on each man, and stuffed one of the rags in their mouths for good measure. They shut the door as they left, rejoining Sarah. Once again, they carefully listened.

Up front, the tone indicating somebody's approach sounded. The three turned to look in alarm. "Chuck," Casey whispered into his mic. "Who's approaching?"

The tone sounded again. And again. And again.

"Chuck!" Casey whispered more urgently. No response.

Agent Phillips retreated through the door into the room. "We've got company. Three men, all of them armed. They're about to storm the entrance."

Walker gave him an odd look. "But there were four tones?"

"That's right," he nodded grimly. "They've got Bartowski."

**Scene LXVII – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Exterior**

The green-eyed man kept his gun firmly in the back of his prisoner, although it probably wasn't necessary. His captive was definitely the analyst type; if he were any more scared, he might wet himself.

The three were walking back from lunch when he had spotted four agents exit the back of the van about a block ahead. He had held up the two men with him, waiting to confirm that the agents were heading towards their warehouse. As they turned the corner, he made a quick call. Sure enough, about a minute later the agents took out the guard at the front desk.

It had been a simple matter to walk up to the back of the van and capture the man inside. Hell, he hadn't even been armed.

Given that the man was clearly no threat, he decided to keep him alive. One never knew when a hostage could be useful.

Approaching the building, the men deliberately set off the motion sensors hidden in the bushes as they entered the parking lot. It was time to drive their quarry into the jaws of their trap.

**Scene LXVIII – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Cage Area**

_They've got Chuck_, Sarah thought helplessly.

She forced herself to calm down. _Breathe, Walker._ At least he was still alive. That's something.

Desperately searching for a focus, she closed her eyes. She took herself back to the moment in the dark room, when Chuck came in after she thought he was gone. She remembered how it felt to be in his arms, to lay against his shoulder. He was safe. She was safe.

She opened her eyes.

She stared over at Casey; he grimly returned her look. He nodded, affirming her unspoken thought. She needed that; she still couldn't completely trust herself to think rationally about Chuck.

"Norris. Phillips," she hissed. "Bartowski must be kept alive at all costs."

The two couldn't have been more surprised if had started to rain beer.

She emphasized, "At. All. Costs."

Norris nodded. Phillips nodded a moment later, his face making it clear he didn't particularly understand – or like – the order. That didn't matter.

Three men with Chuck were outside. What did they need to do?

Instinct took over. "Back to the front room. Now," she whispered loudly.

"Are you insane?!" Casey asked. "The…"

"NOW!" she repeated urgently.

Not understanding, the three watched her charge into the front room … and into the sights of the three armed men.

**Scene LXIX – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Front Room**

Walker shoulder-rolled into the front room, taking the man opening the door down with her first shot. The other two scattered at the unexpected attack, the green-eyed man dragging a panicked Chuck off to the left side with him.

"Sarah!" Chuck cried out.

"Walker's lost it," Casey muttered. He knew her feelings for Chuck would eventually get them into trouble.

Wait. Something wasn't right. Why wouldn't the approaching men avoid the motion sensors? Surely they would know…

Suddenly, his eyes widened. "No, she's right! Go! Go!"

At Casey's urging, the other two agents finally sprung into action, able to assume positions behind the desk with the aid of Sarah's cover fire. Casey was the last man through, pulling the door shut as three men with submachine guns and two with handguns opened fire behind them, spraying splinters as the bullets struck the door. He winced as a large shard of wood embedded in the back of his neck; no time to deal with that now.

The two remaining gunmen outside had taken positions beyond the walls in the front corners of the room, blowing out the window, then taking the occasional blind shot to try to keep the four pinned.

The hailstorm of bullets stopped; no doubt their attackers were charging the door. He slid to the left, squeezing off a shot at the opposite attacker to keep him pinned.

Sarah lay on her stomach, trying to get a clean shot at either attacker. Norris and Phillips crouched behind the desk, each covering one of the attackers, firing the occasional shot.

This was not good. They probably had twenty seconds before the door behind them burst open, if that. And they couldn't compete with the firepower.

He looked around the room. The door behind them wasn't an option. The door in front of them wasn't an option. There was only the door to their left.

Casey slid to the wall next to the door, firing the occasional round at the opposite attacker, keeping him pinned.

Along his wall, a frightened Bartowski was suddenly thrust out beyond the cover. Norris barely pulled off a firing at the movement.

Between Chuck and the wall, a pair of bright-green eyes assessed the agents' positions. Casey remembered those eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he had taken a step towards the green-eyed man.

Sarah planted a bullet in the wall right next to the man's head, causing Chuck to yelp, staring at the bullet hole a few scant inches away from his eyes. The green-eyed man jerked back, pulling Chuck with him.

Casey shook his head. He could no more go after the green-eyed man than Sarah could go after Chuck. _Another time_, he promised himself.

One more cover shot, and Casey was able to close the last few feet to the side door. He yanked it open, the door swinging towards the front window. The timing was excellent, because the green-eyed man took a blind shot along the wall a moment later, the bullet embedding in the door. He fired again at the opposite attacker.

C'mon!" he ordered, keeping the opposite attacker covered.

Sarah rolled once to her left and onto her feet. Running to the doorway, she paused for the briefest of moments as she scanned the room, then kept running. Norris and Phillips, quickly followed, firing the occasional cover shot as they slid across the room.

Casey fired one more cover shot at the opposite attacker. He was about to exit the room as well when the shattered door behind the desk was kicked in. On pure reflex, he turned and fired a quick shot into the doorway as he retreated, striking a man along the diagonal in the shoulder. The machine gun in his hand fired as the bullet turned his shoulder; a dozen bullets and three cries suggested that his one shot produced three victims, although none of them were likely fatal.

He turned with a grin; as he removed his foot, the weighted door swung shut. He couldn't resist asking Walker, "You gonna give me the combination shot if I didn't call it?"

She was reloading; he quickly did as well. "Given the circumstances, I'd say you can keep shooting." She flashed a tight grin as she locked her clip.

The room was mostly empty except for some flat, unconstructed boxes stacked by the exterior wall. The scarred walls and a couple of shredded targets suggested a number of shooting contests had been held here.

In addition to the door they entered, there was a door on the opposite wall, and one along the left wall. Norris was listening carefully at the left door; Phillips at the opposite.

Again, Casey assessed. He looked at Walker; simultaneously, the pair said, "Straight." It only made sense; the left door could mean being more easily surrounded, and they couldn't count on the element of surprise. However, they did have one advantage. Casey ran to the right of the door, and reached into his pouch.

Phillips nodded, then yanked his door open. Holding it open with his back, he helped to cover the door they had entered. Norris went first, kneeling as he scanned the room. Walker passed behind him, and soon the pair was securing the next room.

Casey carefully listened for action from Walker's room. Hearing nothing, he patiently waited. They would come.

**Scene LXX – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Office**

The room was secure.

The desk, the filing cabinet, the bulletin board, and the other furnishings made it clear the space was used as an office. Of more interest was the pair of doors: one led back to the interior, and the other led outside. They had their way out. Sarah covered the interior door, while Norris covered the exterior.

_Where the hell was Casey?_ She risked a glance back.

As soon as she spotted him, she understood his plan. _Oh, this could be good._

Sarah slid over to Norris, and whispered in his ear. He nodded his understanding, and shifted positions so he could cover both doors.

She looked through the window on the exterior exit. Seeing the coast was clear, she slipped outside into the bright sunlight.

**Scene LXXI – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Interior Room**

Tick. Tick. They would come.

Tick. Tick. They would come.

Tick. Tick. The door opened about two feet, and a handgun was blindly pointed around the corner.

Casey immediately grabbed the gun and twisted up. A shot fired into the ceiling as he stole the gun with his left hand … and then banked the live flash-bang off the suddenly closing door with his right.

He ran.

He was halfway across the room when panicked cries came from beyond the closed door. Phillips, timing his retreat, pulled away from the weighted door at the last moment, giving Casey just enough time to slip through the door before it slammed shut.

The flash-bang exploded, eliciting another set of cries. Casey dusted off his green polo as he rolled onto his back. He grinned.

Combination shots, bank shots … man, he was on fire.

**Scene LXXII – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse Exterior**

After the detonation, Sarah came around the corner of the warehouse, gun drawn. Two disoriented men stumbled blindly in the midday sun. Having been trained with flash-bang grenades, she didn't envy the added burden of needing to adjust to the sunlight on top recovering from the flash of light.

Norris joined her. That was good; that meant Phillips and Casey had the room secured.

The two leveled their guns towards the men as they ran down the side of the building. She looked for Chuck's familiar Buy More uniform; she had been hoping that he and his captor would be incapacitated by the blast. No such luck. _Crap._

"Down on the ground," she ordered, repeating the order in Spanish. Squinting blindly in her direction, the pair decided they had no choice, and slowly complied.

With the two on the ground, the agents ran to the edge of the broken window, and peered into the room. Another man lay on the ground, holding his ears as he writhed on the ground. Three more down. But where was Chuck?

**Scene – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Storage Space**

The green-eyed man pushed Chuck into an open area towards the back of the warehouse. Three other men stood in the area, one of them helping to dress a bullet wound to in another's left forearm.

Gomes came through a door at the side of the room, looking irritated. Before the door shut, Chuck caught a glimpse of a lethargic Davis, obviously bruised and just as obviously alive. The door closed.

Gomes said, "We've lost six men to the attackers, with another one missing? And we've done nothing but capture an analyst?" He glared at the other four men. "How is this possible?"

None of the other men would look Gomes in the eye. He picked up a chair and hurled it against the wall in disgust.

The green-eyed man said, "We have to cut our losses and get out of here. This place will be swarming with agents inside twenty minutes."

Faster than Chuck thought possible, Gomes had a gun pointed at the man's head. Fighting his temper, he forced himself to lower the gun, returning it to the belt in the small of his back. "You may be right. There are, however, loose ends we must tie up first."

Chuck swallowed hard.

The five men surrounded Chuck in a ring. Gomes smirked, then narrowed his eyes as he glared at Chuck. "Tell me," he ordered, "how you found us."

"I really wouldn't know," Chuck lied, not very convincingly. "I was just brought in on this to do the surveillance piece."

Gomes laughed, then gave one of the other men an order is Spanish. The man pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open with an ominous click.

Gomes said, "Tell me, or we'll carve out your liver."

_Five men, one with a knife_, Chuck thought. _Ironic._ He decided his best tactic was to stall.

"OK, OK, I'll talk," Chuck conceded. Looking at Gomes, he said, "You are Ernesto Gomes of the Venezuelan secret service. Rayo Negro. You were spotted by one of our agents a little while ago."

He turned to look at the other men in turn, hoping for a flash to give him more intel to stall with. No such luck; none of their faces or markings were giving him anything.

Thinking quickly, he made up a story. "We followed you around town, but you eluded us twice, and were tough to track after you cleaned out the office space. We got a hit off a traffic camera in this area the other day, and tracked you to here."

Gomes shook his head. "That makes no sense. There are only two traffic cameras anywhere close to here, and we avoid them. Even if we didn't, that wouldn't give away our location."

The green-eyed man said, "This is taking far too long. I'll break his wrist." He reached out and grabbed Chuck's right arm with his right hand.

Chuck's eyes widened. He grabbed the man's right wrist with his left hand, and twisted hard. The green-eyed man flipped over onto the ground. Chuck let out a disbelieving gasp of pride.

The green-eyed man landed on his back, and with a smooth pivot, swept Chuck's legs out from under him; Chuck landed hard on his back, his breath whooshing from his lungs.

The man continued his roll back onto his feet, and had his gun drawn and pointed at Chuck's head by the time he regained his footing. "That was very stupid," he said.

_Huh_, Chuck thought, remarkably calm given the situation. _Guess that's why Sarah doesn't want me fighting._

The green-eyed man narrowed his eyes, ready to pull the trigger.

A shot rang out. Then another.

Chuck heard two of the men collapse behind him.

A third shot, and a third collapse.

Gomes was sprinting off into a maze of scattered crates, occasionally dodging side-to-side to make himself a more difficult target. Chuck and his attacker turned to watch. Two more shots rang out, but both were wide of their target, striking crates and sending showers of splinters into the air. Then Gomes was gone.

The two turned back to look at the gunmen. Sarah stood there, gun pointed at the green-eyed man. "Drop it," she ordered.

"Drop it," she ordered again.

"And what?" the man sneered. "You won't shoot me as well?"

"You have my word," Sarah said.

"I'm not sure that I can trust your word. After all, we just met."

With a wicked expression, she countered, "Well, I can guarantee that you will get shot if you don't drop the gun."

The man pondered her words. "Yeah, but I'm thinking I get shot either way. At least this way, I take one of you with me." He turned to Chuck. "Stand up. Slowly."

Chuck saw Sarah's face flicker with doubt as he slowly climbed to his feet, the gun never leaving his temple. _C'mon, Sarah_, he thought. He tried to give her a reassuring expression; he had no idea whether he was successful in hiding his fear.

The green-eyed man looked back at Sarah. "Well," he asked. "Any last negotiating tactics?"

Coldly, Sarah said, "Just one." She fired off a shot.

The green-eyed man had a confused expression on his face as his arm flew back. He looked down at the gun as if he had expected it to fire. The gun fell lifelessly from his hands.

It was then he saw the blood dripping from the bullet-hole just inside his wrist. Sarah had shot out the tendons that controlled the movement of two of his fingers.

A second shot rang out as Sarah kept her end of the guarantee. The man still carried a stupefied expression when he hit the ground.

Chuck looked over at Sarah with an open mouth. "Nice shot!" he said. His adrenaline failed him and he put his hands on his knees to support himself while he tried to catch his breath.

Sarah slowly lowered her weapon, a concerned expression on her face. She didn't have the heart to tell him she had been aiming for the gun, not the wrist. A few inches the other way…

**Scene – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Storage Space**

Gomes ran as fast as he could, which was very fast. Nobody would catch him in a footrace.

Straight ahead was the office door, and the exit. He chanced a last look behind to make sure the blonde woman wasn't pursuing him.

Casey quietly stepped out from behind a crate, a bleached white 2x4 in his hand. With Gomes not looking, he took a gentle swing and used Gomes' momentum against him.

With a satisfying crack, the board struck its target. Gomes' legs carried forward as his head stopped cold, and his body dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks.

"Black Lightning, meet white thunder." He threw the 2x4 to the ground next to the unconscious body.


	17. Do What You Have To Do

**Scene LXXIII – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

The three agents, exhausted but exhilarated, strolled into the main interrogation room. Chuck decided he would be all too happy to leave this room knowing he wouldn't be coming back for a while.

Chuck marveled at what a terrific day it had been. Between everything at Buy More going so well and successfully completing the mission, he couldn't ask for anything more. All that was left was the debriefing, and then Chuck planned to have a hot shower and a long one-on-one meeting with his pillow. As Casey activated the communication station, Chuck closed his eyes, savoring the idea.

His eyes snapped open when he heard General Beckman's voice. "Report?"

Casey began, "Good news, General. We successfully infiltrated the facility and captured a large number of cell members."

"You say 'a large number'. Did any escape?"

Sarah said, "Unknown, ma'am. We killed three and captured nine, including Gomes, but we have no way of knowing if there were any more."

Casey smirked, "I don't know; a little water-boarding might loosen their tongues a bit."

Chuck wasn't sure what upset him more: that Casey would make the suggestion, or that he was the only one who seemed at all bothered by that idea. He wondered if he would ever accept things like that as calmly as the others did.

Director Graham inquired, "Did you find anything to indicate what they were planning?"

Sarah answered, "We seized a number of documents that are worth reviewing, and the cell was stockpiling an interesting variety of equipment. With further analysis, we should be able to determine their plans."

Chuck's heart sank. Documents and equipment typically meant a parade of items in front of his eyes. He was beginning to think he would never get any sleep.

However, General Beckman threw them a curve ball. "No, you three have done enough. We'll send a team of analysts to examine what you found. It will be better to keep you free for other missions that may come up."

Casey, intrigued, asked, "Anything we should know about?"

"Not right now. But good work."

The door to the room opened, and Agents Norris and Phillips escorted Cush into the room. Cush immediately looked hopefully at Chuck, wondering about Davis. Chuck gave him a tight smile and a nod, and Cush's face broke into a toothy grin.

Director Graham asked, "Something funny, Bartowski?"

He answered, "No, just letting Mr. Cushman know that we successfully retrieved Mr. Davis."

The director mused, "Ah, that's right. We still have a couple of loose ends."

"Loose ends?" Chuck suddenly got a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes. Mr. Cushman was caught breaking into a top secret CIA server, and Mr. Davis was an accessory."

Chuck glanced at Cush, who was suddenly white as a sheet, his face tight. He looked back to the director, giving a disbelieving laugh as he said, "Surely you're not going to…" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

"What do you suggest we do? Give them a parade?"

"Davis doesn't know anything dangerous. And…"

"Mr. Davis will be released under certain conditions. But Mr. Cushman is a different story."

"He knows an IP address. Change it."

Sarah tried to slow him down. "Chuck…" She never got any further.

The director continued, "That's not what I'm referring to. We had his code analyzed by our experts. Their conclusion was that he could figure out how to break into any server he wants. He's dangerous."

A desperate thought occurred to him. _I hope you can forgive me, Cush._ Chuck licked his lips. "Then make him dangerous for you, not against you."

"What do you mean?"

"If the guy can figure out how to break into your servers, he can show you where your vulnerabilities are. He can make your security better."

"Are you suggesting we take an un-vetted man and give him access to our entire network?"

"Well, it's not like the vetting process weeds out all the bad apples. Remember Dr. Zarnow, the guy who wanted to kidnap me and sell me on the black market? What about Laslo; he almost blew up the Santa Monica pier. And then there's …"

Casey grabbed Chuck's shoulder, and uttered, "Idiot. Cushman doesn't have clearance for any of this."

Chuck pushed Casey's hand off his shoulder. Through gritted teeth, he responded, "Well, either he'll get clearance, or he'll be dead." Casey looked a little surprised at Chuck's assertiveness.

Chuck turned back to the monitor. "Look, you're talking about putting Cushman in a hole in the ground anyway. Fine. Put him in a bunker somewhere. Train a video camera on him as he works. Vet him during a probationary period. The guy's too good at what he does to just discard him … and he certainly doesn't deserve it."

For once, their superiors were speechless. The general pushed a button on her keyboard to mute the volume on their end, and the two held a private discussion, covering their mouths as they spoke.

Chuck checked on his friend. His face had a glimmer of hope; Chuck wanted to offer Cush another smile, but he honestly had no idea what would happen next.

On screen, the pair completed their conversation; the general unmuted the volume. The director said, "OK, Chuck. We'll try it your way. But you'd better hope this works out."

His first thought regarding the unspoken threat was to make a flippant remark, but Casey grabbed him by the shoulder again, warning him off. Instead, he looked over and grinned at Cush, whose face showed all kinds of relief … and more than a little excitement.

The director added, "We will contact Agent Phillips with orders for transporting Mr. Cushman. He will leave in twenty minutes."

General Beckman said, "Good work. Agents, please file your final reports, and then you may consider this mission closed." She signed off.

Casey and Sarah shared a grin, looking like the weight of the world was off their shoulders.

Chuck walked over to Cushman, trying to read his face as he crossed the room. Ignoring the two agents flanking him, he asked Cush, "Are you OK with this?"

Cush let out a big grin. "OK?! Not only do I get to live, but I get a government license to break into a top-secret computer network. Are you crazy? That seems like a pretty sweet deal to me."

A smile lit up Chuck's face.

Agent Phillips said, "Sorry, gentlemen, but we have to get Mr. Cushman ready for transport."

"Wait, can I stay with him? You know, until he actually leaves?"

Phillips looked over at Sarah, who gave an assenting nod. Chuck grinned back in gratitude. He was so excited for his friend as the group left the room that he didn't notice the strain in her answering smile.

**Scene LXXIV – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

As soon as the four left the room, Sarah walked into one of the interrogation rooms and shut the door. Eyeing the light on the camera to make sure Casey didn't eavesdrop, she speed-dialed a number.

"Graham here."

"Walker here. The package is being wrapped."

"Think Chuck bought it?"

Sarah steadied her voice. "Hook, line and sinker, sir."

"Good. How did you know he would push for Cushman to work for the CIA?"

Despite the fact Graham couldn't see her, Sarah shrugged. "I know my asset."

"Excellent work." Click.

Sarah's eyes glazed over as she guiltily stared off into space. The CIA never had any intention of killing Cushman; he was simply too talented. Once Director Graham read the reports of what he could do, Cushman was going to be forcibly recruited, much as Chuck would have been had Bryce not interfered. The vetting process had been expedited the prior day. Initial findings looked promising; the guy had a clean record.

The ploy with Chuck accomplished three things. It prevented any possibility of resentment on Cushman's part, at least in the short term. He was just happy to be alive, and would gladly go and do what he was told, especially since a person he trusted had so genuinely fought for the opportunity. Without that, there would have been a potential need to threaten the subject to accept his assignment.

Another small benefit was that the agency earned a credit with Chuck for taking care of his friend at his request. One never knew when a credit like that would be useful with an asset, but they picked one up for free.

The only risk was that Chuck would draw a parallel between Cushman and himself. Sarah pointed out that the ploy involved a claim that they would need to terminate Cushman for knowing the one IP address. Chuck was already worried the CIA was going to terminate him because of his flash on the network, so in Sarah's mind, this would only reinforce that fear.

However, Director Graham was confident that this episode would actually be useful for assuaging Chuck's fears. They could argue that the CIA always had a place for good people, as Chuck had now seen firsthand. They needed to defuse any thoughts Chuck had about being terminated, and the director though this would be a useful tool for that.

Sarah caught herself fiddling with the heart around her neck again. If she wasn't careful, she was going to rub the glint right off the pendant.

Needing to think about something else, she left the interrogation room. Casey was over at the communication station working on his mission report. Without looking up, he asked, "What was that about?"

"Just wrapping up a few things."

"Right." Casey obviously smelled the ruse with Cushman, but he knew he wouldn't get anywhere asking her about it. He changed the subject. "Listen, I never thanked you for calling me in today."

Sarah walked across the room to the table, looking for one of her file folders. "No thanks necessary. I was just calling in my partner." She offered a friendly smile.

"I think we both know it was a little more than that."

"Hey, I may have dated Bryce while on the job. But just to be clear: not interested." She pointed to herself with her thumb to emphasize the point. She couldn't keep a straight face, and laughed.

Casey actually smiled, but only a little. "I'm trying to be serious here. After what I said outside the coffee shop, nobody could have blamed you if you had just called in the CIA cavalry."

Sarah nodded, waiting.

"So, why'd you do it?"

The moment became a bit uncomfortable for Sarah; romantic feelings weren't the only ones she had trouble expressing. Finally, she said, "You're my partner, so I'm going to look out for you. Getting Gomes was important to you."

Casey studied her for a moment, his face a mystery. "That it was," he said. Sarah thought it might be as close to an apology as she'd get from him. She was wrong.

Casey walked over to the monitoring desk, and opened up a drawer with his things in it. He pulled out an unmarked CD, and brought it back to Sarah, offering it to Sarah without a word.

She looked curiously at the disc, not taking it. "What's that?"

"Surveillance from the Bartowski residence. Night before last."

Sarah blanched, but tried to cover it. "What's on there?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

Casey looked Sarah straight in the eye. "Let me guess; you don't remember?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I caught the 2:15 and 2:45 showings. Seems like you went a couple steps over the line with the margaritas."

Sarah's façade crumbled. He knew; there was no point in denying any of it. "I did. That isn't like me."

"Neither is the pass you made at Chuck."

_The what?!_ If Casey was bluffing this time, it was a good one. Sarah felt her face grow hot. Regardless, the drunkenness alone meant that he had her over a barrel. "Casey, I … I don't remember any of it."

"I know. That's part of why you're still here."

She swallowed hard: he wasn't bluffing. What had she done? "What's the other part?"

"The other part is that Chuck took the high road. He did the right thing, and that couldn't have been easy for him. I'm not going to punish him for that. Assuming you do the right thing as well." Casey handed her the disc. "You'll especially want to check the entries at 10:45 and at 11:17."

Sarah was beyond words. The old Casey would have gotten her reassigned just out of principle.

Casey cocked his head to the side and smirked. "Besides, I wasn't going to be left here alone with a mopey Chuck while they shipped out your replacement. I would have been the one suffering the real punishment." Casey winked at her, and walked over to the communication station to finish his report.

Sarah stared after Casey for a bit; then, she turned the stare at the disc in her hand. Shaking herself from her trance, she went over to the monitoring equipment and stuck the disc into a slot. Putting on a set of headphones, she used the computer monitor to scroll through different time segments with labels identifying where the audio was captured. The early time segments were all in the kitchen or living room, while the later ones were all from Chuck's bedroom. Casey had basically put together a recording of her entire evening.

The bedroom recording started at 10:42. The sound of muffled music, laughter and applause filled her ears. Something about the music tickled her memory; she remembered Chuck's allusion to her "hat dance"; she couldn't remember it. She wondered if this recording was made while she was dancing in the other room.

Just after 10:45, she heard a door open. She heard a female giggle she didn't recognize: it was happy, it was joyful. With a jolt, she realized it was her! She tried to remember the last time she giggled like that.

The mattress creaked. She heard Chuck order, "Wait here." The bedroom door closed, and the mattress creaked again. Then silence for a moment.

Chuck protested, "Sarah…"

She heard herself say, in a brazen voice, "What's the matter, Chuck? You promised to protect me tonight. And I am in dire need of some protection…"

The audio grew silent. She puzzled for a second before rewinding, turning up the audio. She heard … kissing? Had they kissed again?

She rewound the audio again, turning it up even louder. This time, she heard the kissing, and the faint sound of Chuck's rapid breathing. She must have been kissing his ear, or his neck, or something. She felt a little warm at the thought, but not as uncomfortable as she might have expected.

Suddenly her own voice screamed in her ear; she quickly paused the audio, closing her eyes in pain. She rewound the audio a few seconds and turned down the volume.

Sarah spent twenty minutes reconstructing the events of about five. In the end, she thought she had a pretty good idea of what happened. Casey was right; she had made a pass at Chuck and Chuck had gently refused her advances.

A few minutes later, Chuck re-entered the room, helping her put on his sweatshirt and drink some water with some aspirin. She supposed it was possible that he saw her topless, but at this point she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Had he decided to, he could have done far more than see her topless.

Casey had mentioned an entry at 11:17; using the audio software menu, she started the audio at 11:16 to be safe. The room seemed deathly quiet; she wondered what could possibly have happened half an hour later.

At just after 11:17, she heard a subtle noise. Turning the volume way up, she tried to decipher the sound. As if Chuck was right behind her, she heard him whisper, "Good night, Sarah." A long moment later, she heard the rustling of sheets and a click as a light was switched off.

Sarah frowned. He had sounded wide awake when he said the words. What could he have been doing? Reading? She skimmed back through the audio for the previous few minutes. She heard no pages being turned, which pretty much ruled that out. Listening to headphones? Maybe, but Chuck wasn't the type to just listen to music; he was always doing something else at the same time. So what had he been doing?

She covered her mouth with a hand. Had he been watching her sleep? She listened to the words again, volume amplified a little further. There was a sweetness, a fondness to the way he said the words. She felt a catch in her throat.

Casey put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She slid off her headphones, her hair tangling in the earpieces, trying to hide her surprise … and her other emotions. She failed utterly.

He simply said, "You have to talk to him."

She didn't dare respond. She had no idea what she would say … to Casey, or to Chuck.

**Scene LXXV – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Chuck whistled a happy tune as Agent Norris escorted him back to the interrogation suite. Cush was safely off, seemingly content with his fate. The two had even managed to work up a scheme for him to get in touch once he got settled. He had high hopes things would work out for Cush.

All in all, he just wanted to get back to the safety of his room. Things had been too perfect; at his point, he didn't want to risk the other shoe dropping.

Agent Norris opened the door for Chuck, and with a nod to Agent Walker, left Chuck in her custody. He looked as eager as Chuck to find a quiet room with a comfortable bed.

Shutting the door behind him, Chuck stopped whistling and asked, "So, when are we out of here?"

Sarah looked up from the monitoring desk, where she finished labeling a disc, and then dropped it into her drawer. With a look to her right, she answered, "We're about ready. We just have a little more debriefing." She nodded towards the middle interrogation room, implicitly asking him to join her.

Chuck frowned. They had already done their debriefing … hadn't they? Unless it was about Cush. It didn't make sense to him. Nonetheless, he followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

"So, what's this about?" he asked.

Sarah intertwined her fingers as she answered, "Listen, Chuck, I owe you an apology."

Chuck was sure his eyes betrayed his bafflement. "An apology? For what?"

Again she looked away before answering. "For the other night." When it was clear he still didn't understand, she added, "'Casa Bartowski'? Your room?"

Chuck smiled playfully. "Oh, that. Yeah, in case you don't remember, I cut you off from Awesome's margaritas for a while."

She laughed almost gratefully, her professional demeanor dropping away. "Believe me, no need. I'll definitely be staying away from tequila for a bit."

He noticed that her smile faded a little too quickly. Puzzled, he asked, "Sarah, what are you trying to say?"

The professional demeanor was quickly back in place. Again, she seemed to choose her words very carefully. "Getting drunk isn't what I need to apologize for. It's what I did while I was drunk."

"You remember?"

"Casey jogged my memory."

"Ah, I should've known."

"What I did was very unprofessional. I'm embarrassed that it happened."

He directed a piercing gaze at her. "Are you really? Because it seems to fit with the other hints you keep dropping."

"Hints?"

"C'mon, Sarah. You kissed me when you thought a bomb was going to explode, then tried to pretend it never happened. You flirted with me all through the holidays, which may have just been the cover, but I don't think so. And…"

"Chuck…" she tried to interrupt. He wasn't having it.

"And then when you get a little tipsy, you make a pass at me. You're sending out an awful lot of signals here. What am I supposed to think?"

"I'm trying to apologize for all of that."

"I don't want an apology if that's how you really feel."

Her eyes softened for the briefest of moments. "How I feel is irrelevant."

"Not to me it isn't."

"I'm a handler and you're my asset. It's my job to protect you as best I can, and I cannot do that if I am compromised."

Chuck's heart skipped a beat. "So you admit you're compromised?"

"Quit twisting my words. As long as we work together, that's all that it can be. Work."

Chuck felt frustration growing within him; the repeated, awkward denials were getting the better of him. "That makes no sense! You worked with Bryce."

"Bryce was a mistake."

"You seem to make a lot of mistakes with men."

"That's low. With Bryce, I let my emotions get the better of me, and it's something I still haven't recovered from."

"Is that what this is about? You're still in love with Bryce?"

"No. But as an agent, I have to be impartial in my decisions, and Bryce affected my judgment. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

Chuck's eyes flashed angrily. "Why is it that you end up referring to everything that happens between us as a 'mistake'? I refuse to believe that feeling this way is a mistake."

"What does it take for you to understand that what I feel is irrelevant? I'm doing what I have to do to protect you. That's all that matters. All that matters is..."

Chuck could no longer contain himself. With a yell, he picked up the surprisingly light chair and hurled it into the back wall. One of legs tore a hole in the cheap drywall before the chair plummeted, a cacophony of metallic clattering filling the room as the chair settled to the floor.

Sarah's eyes grew wide. Unconsciously, her hands went to her face, covering her mouth.

His voice ominously quiet, he stared her down as he said, "That's not what matters to me."

Sarah's eyes darted between him and the wall, unsure of what was more unsettling.

After a moment that seemed to stretch forever, Chuck regretfully surveyed the damage for a moment, but his anger quickly overcame him again. He looked down at his visitor's badge, and in a humorless voice said, "Tell the CIA they can take the repairs out of my paycheck." He gave her a final frustrated look before walking towards the door.

Sarah watched him walk away. A tear broke free from her left eye, leaving a salty trail down her cheek. She tried to call after him, but she lacked the strength to put voice to the word. "Chuck," she uttered noiselessly, unconsciously taking a step forward.

It was impossible that he heard or saw her, but he stopped anyway. Without looking at her, he said in a dull voice, "I'm sorry about the wall." After a long pause, he added, "Maybe it would be best if Casey watched over me for a few days."

He walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

**Scene LXXVI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room**

Sarah walked out of the interrogation room a while later, eyes wide and unseeing. Casey's voice startled her from her reverie. "You know, you could have been honest with the guy."

She looked over to see Casey standing at the monitoring desk, fiddling with the equipment. It took a moment for Sarah to process what he had said. "What do you mean? I was."

"Really. You told the whole truth in there?"

In a defeated tone, she asked, "What should I have told him? In another time or place, things might be different? What good would that have done?"

"Well, for one thing, there wouldn't be a hole in the wall. At the end of it all, you still won't tell him how you really feel. You keep hiding behind your job to avoid that."

"It would only have hurt him more."

"Really. I think you underestimate the guy, at least when it comes to feelings. Besides, the chair in the wall says you've already hurt him plenty."

Sarah found that she couldn't deny the last part; that made all of this all the more difficult.

Casey pulled a DVD out of a recording tray, sticking a finger through the hole to keep the surface clean. He had obviously recorded what went on in the room. Had this all been a ploy to get even more damning evidence against her?

Sarah looked nervously at the disk. "Um … what are you going to do with that?"

Casey looked down at the DVD. "What, this?" He looked at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Without a noticeable shift in expression, he took the disc and snapped it in half between his hands. Small pieces of the shattered disc skittered across the floor. He dropped the remains of the disc in his hands into the small trash can by the monitoring table.

Offering her a tight smile, he started walking for the door. Sarah looked after him, questions in her eyes. "You know, I don't get you sometimes."

Casey stopped with his hand on the door knob, looking back at her. "Who, me? I'm easy to get. You did the right thing by keeping things professional with Chuck. And I don't punish people who do the right thing."

Sarah gave him a genuine smile, her eyes still wet with tears. Casey, obviously becoming uncomfortable, decided the tender moment had dragged on long enough. "I'd better catch up with Chuck before one of the hall monitors gives him detention."

Casey left the room, shutting the door behind him. She watched his departure, trying to figure out the puzzle that was Casey. It was so much easier to think about Casey than Chuck right now.

**Scene LXXVII – El Segundo, 729 Lairport Street, Warehouse, Storage Space**

A pretty girl with brown, almond-shaped eyes lowered herself from her hiding spot, cleverly conceal above the raised ceiling tiles in the office. Delicately finding her footing on the crate to avoid making noise, she lowered herself to the floor just as delicately, snatching a small white plastic rectangle from the floor before she fled out the side door.

Her whole team had been taken. FBI, NSA, CIA, she wasn't sure who, but it didn't really matter. In one raid, all their carefully laid plans were threatened.

As soon as the agents had slipped the trap and taken out more than half the team, she took the opportunity to slip into her hiding place. At the end of the day, she was a survivor.

She headed for a pile of junk in the front corner of the parking lot. It looked for all the world like she was walking into a dead end, but with surprising agility, she hopped off a series of items as easily as if they were stairs, clearing the fence with a fluid leap off an old shipping container.

She walked down the street as fast as she could without attracting attention, occasionally making a deliberately casual glance behind her to see if she was being followed. How had the agents found them? Their team had been so careful to stay off the grid. Unless somebody made an amateurish mistake, there seemed no good reason for it.

Making a tight right turn around a corner, she kicked into a jog for half a block. On the right side was an IHOP; she quickly ducked into the shop, seating herself at a table that allowed her to watch both the main entrance and the front window. Nothing. She seemed to have eluded notice by the agents.

When a waitress finally approached to ask about her order, she muttered an apology for changing her mind and left the restaurant, continuing up the street. No, there was no good reason for the agents to find them. They had been too careful.

That could only mean one thing: the Intersect. As they feared, the stupid thing could spoil all their plans. But Bryce Larkin was known to have left Los Angeles…

Lizzie looked at the white plastic badge in her hand. It belonged to one John Casey, ostensible Buy More employee and one of the agents who had raided the Fulcrum hideout. Maybe he could lead her to the Intersect … and redemption in the eyes of her superiors.

**Scene LXXVIII – Washington DC, DNI, IT Department**

The phone receiver hit the cradle with the sound of plastic on plastic. "God bless America," the technician exclaimed in a cursing tone.

Another technician looked at him from across the room with an amused expression, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What now?"

"That was Director Graham. He just tore me a new one; apparently some virus got through our defenses and infected his admin's computer. And now his computer is infected as well."

"Seems the good director is on a rampage. My buddy in L.A. was telling me that he was calling their department on a daily basis, not going through channels, etc."

"Well, I better go see what's up with the virus. Wonder how it got on her computer." He got up, and started putting a few things he might need into his briefcase.

The other technician waved it off. "Ah, the admin probably opened an email she shouldn't have."

"Probably." Without another word, the technician threw the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder and left the room.

**Scene LXXIX – Casa Bartowski**

Chuck wandered aimlessly into the living room, a numb look on his face. He didn't feel the bruises on his body. He didn't feel the fatigue in his muscles. He didn't feel anything except the vast emptiness inside of him.

Without thinking about it, he walked to the refrigerator, pulling it open and feeling the cold air wash over him. He stood hunched over, motionless, for a minute or more, searching for something to fill the emotional chasm.

Frustrated, he stood up and shut the door gently, resisting the urge to slam it home. He wouldn't find what he was looking for in the refrigerator.

Slowly he shuffled back to the living room, meandering through the furniture. He didn't want to sit, but he didn't want to stand. He searched the room for … something.

He thought about calling Morgan for a moment. Anna was off visiting her parents in advance of Chinese New Year's, and would be gone for a couple of weeks. In her absence, Morgan was eager to log some serious gaming time.

Chuck decided that would be a bad idea. He really wasn't up for the company ... or having to explain his depression.

He finally settled on heading over to Ellie's CD collection. There was a song he remembered from a time long ago, from an album Ellie used to play endlessly while she studied. One of the lyrics echoed what Sarah had said. The name of the song was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite recall what it was.

Slowly he scanned through the titles, using his index finger to help guide his eyes. Ellie, in typical fashion, had the collection alphabetized by artist, but that wasn't helping him now.

About halfway through, he paused. He smiled, appreciating the irony. The song was even sung by a Sarah.

He picked up the CD, and went back to his room. Stepping over the broken picture frame on the floor, he inserted the disk into his player, and set the song number. A soft voice and a gentle piano filled the room; he stood, transfixed, listening.

_What ravages of spirit conjured this tempestuous rage_

_Created you a monster broken by the rules of love_

_And fate has led you through it; you do what you have to do_

_And fate has led you through it; you do what you have to do_

_And I have the sense to recognize_

_That I don't know how to let you go…_

He turned up the volume and put the song on repeat. Casey would likely hear the song, and he would just as likely understand the reason for it. But that really didn't matter. At the moment, nothing really mattered.

He collapsed onto the bed, his head on his pillow, staring at the ceiling.

**Scene LXXX – Casey's Apartment**

Casey was wandering his apartment, cleaning and storing the equipment from the mission. As he worked, his mind puzzled over the conversation between Chuck and Sarah. The conversation had confirmed what he thought: the two had strong feelings for each other. However, it had also dispelled his belief that the two were sneaking around behind his back. The emotion was too genuine; too real. No wonder Sarah backed away.

He had seen agents fall for each other before. Their jobs were lonely ones, requiring them to shed all contacts at a moment's notice to assume a new role halfway around the world. Inevitably, some of them would succumb to temptation, if only to not feel so alone for a moment. But the moment would pass, the call would come, and one of them would disappear.

The other alternative was to take up with a civilian. In some ways, that was easier: at least one of them didn't realize that the relationship was doomed from the start. The down side was that it became so much easier for the agent to deceive himself. Casey knew that from firsthand experience.

His mind was starting to go down a road he preferred not to travel, so Casey decided to check in on Chuck. He probably should keep a close eye on him for a bit: Sarah would pull herself out of her funk, but he wasn't so sure how Chuck would react.

Flipping a pair of switches on his monitoring console, he threw the audio from Chuck's room onto speakers so he could keep working. A woman's voice and piano music filled the apartment.

From the tone of the song, Chuck was taking it hard. That wasn't a surprise. What surprised him was how caught up he became in the lyrics filtering through the transmitters in Chuck's room.

_Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul_

_I'm ever swiftly moving trying to escape this desire_

_The yearning to be near you; I do what I have to do_

_The yearning to be near you; I do what I have to do_

_But I have the sense to recognize _

_That I don't know how to let you go_

_I don't know how to let you go …_

The word "apparitions" struck particularly close to home. Casey instantly found himself traveling the road he had tried so desperately to avoid.

Part of him had hoped he had managed to forget Ilsa. Part of him knew he never would.

Without really thinking about it, he found himself searching for his bottle of scotch and a glass. He wasn't prepared to travel that road without some company.

**Scene LXXXI – Gym**

Sarah was alone in a gym, the air stale and unmoving. Mirrors lined three of the walls; some blue mats were neatly stacked in a corner of the wooden parquet floor. Sunlight flooded in through a small window high in the back wall, highlighting particles of the dust as she stirred the air. She had only switched on one of the four banks of lights; having most of the room dim tightened her focus … and matched her mood.

Knowing what would happen if she went back there with nothing to distract her, she had stopped by her apartment long enough to collect her gym bag and workout clothes. A workout seemed like a good idea, especially since she had been recently taken down in a fight. She was obviously getting rusty.

Gloves on her hands, she struck the heavy bag in a series of combination blows. Thwap, thwap. Thwap, thwap. Each strike dully echoed from the corners of the room.

Getting into a rhythm, her mind wandered back to Chuck. She had done the right thing, she told herself. A handler having feelings for an asset could only end badly. Besides, as she had told him a while ago, it was common for an asset and a handler to perceive feelings that weren't there.

But, she had to admit, the feelings sure felt like they were there.

Stopping to catch her breath, she looked around the room. On many days, there was something peaceful and introspective about only the sounds of her strikes breaking the silence. It allowed her to collect her thoughts, or sort through a problem.

Today, she didn't want to think. She needed something else to fill the silence, something to fill the void inside of her. Unfortunately, there was no sound system in the room, and in her haste to leave the hotel room, she had forgotten her ear buds for her iPhone. Ah, well. There was no help for it.

She switched to kicks, alternating strikes between her legs as she warmed up. In the back of her mind, a favorite ballad from her days before the CIA started playing. It started on an unconscious level; she didn't even realize that she was thinking of the song until she started humming the second verse.

When she recognized the song, a lump formed in her throat. She furiously kicked the bag harder and harder, as if trying to beat the song out of her head with each successive blow. Still, she heard the song playing.

Switching back to punches, she pounded the bag in rapid succession as if trying to change tactics, but still the song advanced. With each punch, she recalled a memory of Chuck.

Meeting him in the Buy More.

Dinner at the Tex-mex restaurant. "I like you, Chuck."

In the courtyard as the door to the apartment shut, hands lingering a touch too long.

Kissing him in front of the "bomb".

"Friends?" Their hands lingered.

Christmas Day at the Bartowski's.

Kissing on New Year's Eve.

Her punches flew harder and harder, but she still found herself thinking of him, muttering sporadic words to the last verse as she struck.

_A glowing ember, burning hot, and burning slow_

_Deep within I'm shaken by the violence _

_Of existing for only you _

_I know I can't be with you; _

_I do what I have to do_

_I know I can't be with you; _

_I do what I have to do_

A last angry punch glanced off the edge of the bag. Anticipating more contact, Sarah lost her balance; she was forced to grab the bag to keep from falling. Letting out an angry cry, she pushed away from the bag, ripping off the offending glove and hurling it to the far end of the room. The second glove quickly followed the first. Her anger turned to sobs; she wrapped her arms around her body, sinking to her knees as the last lines of the song echoed through her head.

_And I have sense to recognize _

_That I don't know how to let you go_

Across town, Casey lay back in his recliner, glass of scotch in one hand on his lap, staring vacantly at the far wall.

_I don't know how to let you go_

Chuck lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. One cheek was wet; his face was an anguished mask.

_I don't know how to let you go._

Editor's note: This story, as mentioned, I view as episode 11b. It feeds nicely into episode 12, "Chuck vs the Undercover Lover", as it explains things such as why Casey was suddenly thinking of Ilsa again.

It even feeds into episode 13, "Chuck vs the Marlin", explaining big things such as how Lizzie sniffed out where the Intersect might be and Chuck's comment about how he and Sarah don't work together any more, and even little things such as why Casey might be willing to ply Morgan with grape soda and why Anna might not be around.

There's a lot of little tidbits like that scattered throughout this story, along with some other little hidden gems for those who are truly interested.

I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it…


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